


Know Your Limits

by Naervon



Series: Madness is in the eye of the beholder [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Author's First Fanfic, Author's first english written work (not native speaker), F/F, F/M, Graphic Violence, M/M, Not a PWP - sorry, Other, Slash, nolan-verse mixed with comics origins, non-con/rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 32,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naervon/pseuds/Naervon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens if the unstoppable force and the immovable object keep crashing together?  Joker's injured (a lot), Batman's guilty (even more), and Gotham city welcomes some new villains to top it all. Songs and fanart added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author: Naervon  
> Title: Know your limits  
> Genre: Mixture of drama, angst, bit of humor, twisted romance. Rarely bits of fluff.  
> Warning: Bad language, violence. RAPE (NOT a dubious consent type). This story is in progress - it's not complete yet. This is my first fan fiction story and my first English written work, I'm not native speaker. And first chapters really show that - if you give this story a chance, I promise it will get better.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or the Joker, nor any other DC character.
> 
> All songs that inspire me to write are added to this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7k-InZBHLSYdCgeE5pH6djUi8lEzSuBJ
> 
> And here you can see a few of pictures I've created for this story: http://naervon.deviantart.com/gallery/59983890/Fanart

**I.**

 

His body hit the ground and the doors slammed behind him, leaving him to his misery. He lied still for some time, didn't know for how long. His insides hurt, cold moist air was biting deeply into his sweaty skin. Asylum... a place for people to get help, to get back to their strength, safe and calm. Sure, that's a good one.

He moved, forced a noiseless chuckle that turned quickly into a raw cough. As several spots of blood, almost black looking in the dreary lighting of the cell, stained the coarse concrete ground, he tried to lift his body. Although dulled a bit by long stillness, a sharp pain shot through his body again and pushed a growl out of his chest. Prison may be a more comfortable place to stay, to be honest... not that he had planned to stay there for longer than here. It's been so boring, that repeated, never changing circle of daylight and people acting nicely and all let-me-help-you and you-are-better-than-this bullshit, medication that he never took, meals that were rarely edible, staring at the blank walls, wishing for anything to amuse him.

And the other side of the coin, as the Baconface would say – the night time. The time when guards would take random patients downstairs to one of the unused laboratories. In these 'night visit hours' anyone rich enough could purchase himself a madman (or madwoman) for several hours, to do whatever he pleased to him and the guards would look the other way.The good people of Gotham, all of them... no matter the wounds, he started to laugh silently, the scarred face grinned like Cheshire cat, pain flashing through his cheeks, temples, inside of his skull. Oh, how he wished his Batsy to see, how these 'good people' would act if given an opportunity... Or perhaps he would get in the line. If he misses a certain punching bag of laughter.

If only. He climbed onto the bed, hissing with every move, feeling wet hotness glue the orange fabric of his jumpsuit to his skin in several places. The first and only rule of this night guest entertainment was to not kill. But there's a plenty of ways to do better than just a simple and boring death. Who else would know that better than he himself? True, the mob and their henchmen usually went the unoriginal way of blunt beating, but sometimes some asshole tried to spark a breath of originality. Like today. The Joker curled up in the bed, back resting against a corner of the small room, and touched his face, tips of his fingers stained and sticky with sweat and blood, and probably with little bit of the remaining black greasepaint. Smug shit came to him, flicked a knife – the Joker recognized it. It was one of his own, one of his favourite pieces.

"Did you lose your smile somewhere?" his visitor sneered, almost inappropriately for his boyish look, straw-colored hair and baby blue eyes. The Joker wanted to paint on that blank canvas of light, soft skin of his cheeks so badly...

"I carry my smile always with me, don't ya see?" he smirked and licked his lips, chapped and bruised, the tip of his tongue touched the uneven skin beyond his mouth's corner.

"Do you want to know how I got them?" he raised an eyebrow, his voice raspy. The challenging and kind of amused stare of his green eyes.

"Not really. I think I'll invent my own version of that story," smiled the visitor back and with a nod his men held the Joker tighter. Despite the clown's liking of pain – especially when induced by a certain pointy-eared vigilante – he couldn't stop himself from screaming his head off, when the blade of his own knife in the stranger's hand cut through the thick, scarred flesh of his face again, invoking all the long and well forgotten.

No one hears you scream in Arkham. No one cares.

 

A few hours later, almost at the brink of the dawn, the doors of his cell with a loud bang opened again. Two guards went in, one of them grabbed the Joker's greenish, greasy hair and yanked him from the bed to the floor.

"Another visit? Charming", he spat blood on the ground, before the guards pulled him out his cell and down again. He giggled all the way silently, in anticipation of things to come. Finally back at the lab, there was still his blood all around from earlier that night... and six men that he did not recognize from the nights before.

"Nice to meet ya, gentlemen," he flashed a glance around with a faint, crooked smirk. Everything was hazy... it didn't stop him from attempting a very wide grin. They had not come to visit him, but... he knew he had met them before.

"Hello... again, boss," one of the men smiled awrily in return at the same time as the rest of the men pulled out their guns and shot both of the guards.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

The night was slow. Nothing much happened, just a few simple robberies. With most of the troublemakers locked in prison or the asylum this week there was probably no need to watch over Gotham all night, and since Bruce was supposed to be present at the company meeting at 9 AM, Batman was on the way home before the dawn. With the prospect of several hours of sleep he could allow himself before the meeting, he got out of the suit quickly and went up, soon to be deeply asleep. He was woken up at eigh o'clock, only to find Alfred waiting with a worried look on his face and a tray with the breakfast in his arms.

"Good morning, master Wayne."

"Hello, Alfred. What is it?" he asked with suspicion in his voice.

"Several men escaped from Arkham this morning, sir. The Joker amongst them," answered the old man and put the tray on the table. Bruce turned on the TV, all channels flooded with news about the asylum break, and he sighed tiredly. If he only could hunt him down right now... to give the clown any time of freedom was the same as asking for a lot of trouble, but it was a bright day and he himself was expected to be seen in less than an hour somewhere else. This day won't be pleasant at all.

"Thank you, Alfred."

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

The day had been busy. A new hideout, getting back his things, catching up with latest news, preparing this and that... killing the henchclown too idiotic to accomplish a simple task that the Joker had given to him. Why the hell is it so impossible to get some painkillers, bandages and stitching stuff for him?

"Do I have to do everything myself?" the green-haired man frowned, slipping into his purple coat and hiding the bottom of his cut open face under a black scarf. Adorned with bright little green and red bats, the Joker chuckled to himself. The evening was dangerously close, but he needed to tend to his cheeks. Now it would be a shame, if he was left with scars, right? Amused, the clown prince of crime quickly walked out.

 

Easier than taking a child's candy, the Joker wiped the blade of his knife with a hankie and dropped the bloodied piece of cloth on the body of the man lying on the floor. He got what he wanted – now was the time to watch out. The streets of Gotham alarmingly darkened, and he expected Bats to be eager to smack the Joker all the way back to Arkham. No, thanks a lot. He can do well without that right now... Quickly and silently the green-haired man slipped out of the back entrance of the hospital and dissappeared in the narrow streets behind it. He instructed his henchclowns to do some mischief in downtown Gotham, if he's not back before the midnight – he did not doubt that they would do excellent. They have, after all, some fresh new memories of what happens to any people failing his wishes. Despite the stingy soreness of his face, the Joker grinned widely, chuckling softly to himself.

Not that he wouldn't want to see his Bats again, no no no... He'd love to. Hear that low, dark voice and see his stern face paying full attention to every move the jester makes... hmmmh, the Joker almost purred with that thought. But what fun would that be now? No matter how much that idea annoyed him, he had to admit to himself he's too weak. Nothing that he would be willing to show or tell, no matter to whom, of course, but he couldn't deny that. Chills and dizziness... Light-headed and injured, the clown prince of crime pitied the fact that probably the first punch would suffice to knock him out.

And that, that's just no fun, that's not his idea of the true bat-oriented pastime. That would be one of the games which he'd like not to play – not that he would despise unfair games, not at all, but he prefered the fortune to be tipped his way.

And then, like he could conjure the dark low voice right from his thoughts out, there it was:

"JOKER."

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

  
  


Bruce was restless. Minutes stretched to hours, hours to days, as he was itching to get the suit and storm out to catch the mad clown before he kills in some sick game another innocent civilian. After the meeting (where he honestly did try his best to stay awake) and a quick lunch he was supposed to appear at some charity event. What's worse than waiting? Waiting bored.

Darkness couldn't come soon enough, and when it finally dropped its velvety black drape over Gotham, Batman met commissioner Gordon on the rooftop just a few seconds after the bat signal flashed to the night sky.

"The Riddler was injured and caught. Nobody has seen the Mad Hatter since his escape. The Joker was spotted at 329 2 nd Avenue an hour ago... leaving an animal clinic, he left three dead man behind," Gordon briefly explained, before the dark knight dissappeared. 

Batman was almost surprised that the blues managed to lock up the Riddler that quickly on their own. He didn't waste any time and soon he was following the clown from a distance. If he didn't know any better, he would think that the Joker was drunk – he treaded without his usual fluid confidence, his knees seemed to be a bit wobbly. Did the clown prince celebrate his freedom? Or did someone already try to get rid of him? Or was that a lingering effect of his Arkham medication? The clown stopped and rested for a while, leaning on his elbow against a wall. Batman got closer.

"JOKER."

The madman lifted his gaze to his, then squinted his eyes.

"Thinking of the devil," smirked the jester from under his scarf. "Hello there, Bats. Missed me?"

"I'm taking you back to Arkham," answered the dark knight dryly. How many times did he said this before?

"Well... catch me, if ya can," the Joker challenged him almost playfully before he turned sharply and quickly to one of the dark narrow spaces between the houses, with the dark knight in tow. Batman didn't allow the jester to run out of his sight, the thrill of the hunt started to overcome his mind, flooding it with enjoyment. He carefully avoided all the things the Joker used to try to slow him or block him, bullets when he came too close to the escapee... Then the world around him exploded in a cracking noise and thick white smoke. Damn it! The coughing Batman stormed forward ceaselessly, following blindly the shrill, mad laugh of the clown prince, expecting a trap – or a cruel joke – but firmly determined not to let the cackling jester flee. What he probably didn't expect, was an ear-splitting screeching of car tires and a loud thump.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Sweet Dreams piano version.

**II.**

 

Batman stopped on the spot, motionless for a second. He got himself out of the thickest fog, but it was spreading quickly. He wasn't surprised that the driver tried to stop, nor did he blame him for hitting something impossible to see. He was... anxious. For this silence felt wrong, the absence of the laughter, which was cut so abruptly... Sirens wailing from the distance, resonating in the fog, sounds of more cars stopping... Batman emerged from the fog right next to the car. The driver, a young woman, was evidently panicking, but she didn't show any sign of injury. The dark knight delved into the thicker layer of fog lying on the ground and his gloved fingers found a warm, still body. The person lying there was breathing, faintly and irregularly, but nonetheless it was. He lifted him into his arms. Batman for a moment kind of expected him to be some civilian, while the clown prince of crime himself was somewhere else laughing at his trick... But the man in his arms was wearing his famous purple coat, green hair stuck to his pale face and black greasepaint on and around his closed eyes reminded Batman of two empty gaping holes of skeletal remains. Batman was sure that if he were to deprive the clown of his ridiculous scarf, he would see that familiar, infamous Glasgow grin of the Joker's. Sickly highlighted with the red paint, as usual. The driver gulped loudly. Batman could only guess that she feared what might happen, if anyone was to learn... who hit the Joker. Well... he's not the one to tell. With a small nod to the young woman, Batman with the Joker in his arms disappeared. And the fog did too, after a while, sinking deeper through the hatches to the sewers.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Everything was going... well, not exceptionally well, but with a lot of hope that even in this wretched state he would be able to get away right under Bat's nose. Save the fight for another, better times. He couldn't hold in the laughter, when the caped crusader behind him struggled like one of the three blind mice. And then he felt a blast of the impact, car lights flashed through the white... he hit the cold ground. Destiny probably has got some sick liking of thrashing him around like a ragdoll... blinked through his mind as he drifted away, closing his eyes slowly.

 

He came to his senses later. Probably thanks to the pain – it was (even for him) pretty bad. He was sitting, under him was something soft and warm, all around him a deep, persistent, humming noise. He opened his eyes hazily and glanced around from behind the narrowed eyelids. He was... in a car? Wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, his arms immobilized under the soft fabric. Just great. Huh... Then his eyes caught the stern profile of the person sitting next to him, driving. Bats's lips narrowed. Is he angry? The Joker stared at him without blinking for a while. Without response.

"And here I thought that only me-kidnapping-you scenario is likely. You really can pull a suprise out of your sleeve, don't ya, Bats?" the Joker smirked. If only his voice didn't sound so frail... he bit his tongue with touch of resentment. He was used to pain, even though this time it took the cake. He wasn't supposed to be weak. He hated the feeling.

Batman ignored him. The Joker narrowed his stare.

"Where am I?"

Silence.

"Where - are ya - taking me?" The Joker (after another moment of stubborn silence) tried to free his hands.

"To the hospital," finally the dark knight answered.

"No way. I'm not... going there," sneered the clown prince a despite his injuries he doubled his efforts to free himself.

"I wasn't giving you a choice," Batman countered in the cold voice.

"Oh, but ya should, Batsy. Y'see, if I don't let someone know, where I am... there miiight be a little bit of... entertainment planned, downtown," smiled the clown prince quickly. Breathing heavily and his voice weakening again, he stopped his movements. Blanket started to turn red in several places. "Not that... I wouldn't enjoy... some ol' merry fiery mayhem..." Batman was sure that the Joker was grinning under his silly scarf all pleased by himself.

"What do you want? You know I won't let you leave," the caped crusader growled irritably.

"Aww, that's so sweet of ya," the Joker mocked him laughingly. "As long as you won't dump me in any prison or hospital, mental ones included mind ya, I'm completely f-iin-e," the jester broke in cough. Or was that only another sick version of his laugh? Batman didn't know, nor did he care.

"Let me stay... at your place, perhaps?" the green-haired man suggested then with wide smile under bloodied scarf. Almost all the little batsies on it were now red. "We can play again after I'm through this shit," the Joker challenged him with one raised eyebrow. Batman glanced at him quickly, for the first time he actually looked at him. Nice. Long silence after that wasn't that nice.

"Fine," Batman growled after a while, with suppressed anger. He couldn't help himself but think how long it would take to locate and disarm any nasty surprise that the Joker wanted to use as his backup. Soft chuckling from the lump of bloody blanket and green hair made him clench his fists tighter on the steering wheel. Damn that clown. It would be almost impossible to hide who Batman really is under the mask... Whoever said 'keep your friends close and your enemies even closer' was clearly out of his senses.

Batman quickly glanced again at the Joker, as he went silent once more, drifted off to unconsciousness. At least he didn't have to blindfold the clown and drive around to confuse him. The amount of blood spilled worried him a bit – he probably won't be able to treat the clown's wounds by himself. That meant risking another outsider around the mansion. Or finding a medic in the Narrows. He sighed in slight annoyance. The other option was to let the clown go, but... Batman was almost surprised that the jester was able to make it till now, with the blanket soaked bloody. Anyway, he would not kill, NOR would he idly stand by and let someone, anyone die, even if it was the Joker. He'd probably be glad if he heard of Joker's death in some street gang war – no, not glad. Relieved would be the better word. The Joker masterfully played him, woken his darker side, ignited tastes most violent, challenged his mind and strength both. And yet – the idea of Gotham without the clown prince of crime was strangely... almost disturbing. And since he would maybe lick out of his wounds like a stray dog he was and then started to cause troubles again, letting the Joker just go was out of the question.

He cast an inquiring stare at his unwelcome passenger. He was still out – Batman parked in one of the dark, narrow streets and engines stopped.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Doctor Frank Stiller was a decent, exemplary man. He payed his taxes, deeply cared for his patients and would never hurt even a fly. But when a heavy thud from below woke him up, he uttered something not very exemplary under his moustache. What the...? Dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown with slippers on his feet, armed with a fireplace poker, he went down from the small flat above his private clinic office and peeked into the consulting room. He had expected maybe burglars, maybe some junkies trying to liven up their night with something from the medication cabinet. What he didn't expect, was Batman. And the Joker, bloodied and lifeless in the dark knight's arms.

"He needs help," explained Batman in coarse voice. "Collision with a car. Probably some intoxication and injuries before that."

Abashed, Frank nodded, while the Joker was laid on the examination table. It was all he needed to know, for now. He switched his gown for his white coat and leaned over the clown. If he was surprised that the masked knight stayed and carefully observed the scene, it wasn't noticeable in his expression.

The doctor slowly with care removed the Joker's scarf. He exhaled softly but with distress when he saw that someone had opened again the clown's scars, even before that already apalling. Quickly he mostly undressed and thoroughly examined the rest of the body. A few of broken ribs. Severely bruised insides – thankfully nothing seemed to bleed internally. Shallow but profusely bleeding lacerations on the skin around his stomach and hips. Bruises, cuts and scrapes, recent and old both, appeared all over the clown's body, ghostly pale, bone-skinny, lean muscled and sharply angular. All of the open wounds would require stitching... No need of any cast though. As the doctor started fixing the Joker's chest in a tight dressing, he couldn't help himself and ponder over the situation. Did Batman lie about the car crash and this was his work? Why would he bring the criminal here and not take him to a hospital? His dark figure was watching carefully over any movement of Frank's hands, and his silent presence was somehow threating, even though Frank was almost sure that Batman wouldn't harm a civilian. Almost.

When finished with the rib dressing, he used a mild sedative before he started to clean the wounds and patch the clown together. Minutes flew by, the dark knight in the background as stationary as the medical equipment around him, the doctor immersed heavily in his work.

The face was left for the last – gently he rubbed off the greasepaint with the alcohol solution, cleaned several lighter raws that were painting rusty red over the deep leaf green of the hair. Then he finally touched the cheeks. The one who had sewn them after the first scarring wasn't exactly precise in his doing. Maybe the Joker mended the first wound himself? It seemed... crazy, but possible. Frank started to sew the new cuts together, with his fine close stitches. He witnessed some of the Joker's... performances, in person or via a TV screen. He knew perfectly well what was hidden inside of this man, if that word can be used for someone evidently a few sanities away from the norm. But on this table, it was only another human being, suffering from immense amount of pain. On this table, Frank was able to sympatize and take care of him, no matter what. Nothing else existed in that moment, but this man and his injuries. No restless night with sirens in the background, no sinister black figure watching over Frank's fingers, no drowsiness left after sudden awakening.

When he was finished, Frank gave him a shot of antibiotics and looked at Batman calmly.

"He will be needing several of these, even after the fever breaks. He needs to be in a warm, clean environment preferably, with regular intake of food and lot of rest," he spoke quietly. Although he doubted that the dark knight would himself tend after this man, or took him anywhere this recommendation would be regarded, he felt this was his duty to say. Batman's answer therefore surprised him.

"I will take care of it."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Dance with the Wolves (Ruslana), Anteroom of Death (Tarja Turunen)

**III.**

 

The Joker growled silently. Everything was blurry, his mind was reluctant to grasp what was happening. Pain had become a loyal familiar... he unsealed the heavy eyelids and looked around. Am I back in Arkham? No... this room was even smaller and without any windows whatsoever. A lightbulb over his head illuminated this rabbit cage with a sickly, faint light. He was... lying on a mattress, still wrapped in a blanket (although this one was clean), but his wrists and ankles were cuffed under it. And... there was a wide leather collar, holding him tightly around his neck, with a link chain leading from back of it to the circle on the wall. The chain didn't allow for much movement – it certainly didn't let him to come close to the door. Brilliant. Was that a hint? Wheezy chuckling reminded him of the chest pains, though they were not as bad as before. He realized that his chest was firmly fixed with bandages. Also, a stingy intractability hinted that some good samaritan patched his mess of a face back together. Bats? Hardly. There was something amiss... he squinted his eyes, before it hit him. His face paint was gone, that comforting feeling of thick layer of greasepaint around his eyes and over the lips and scars... His coat was gone too – and he didn't doubt Batman confiscated all his beloved knifes and other useful toys. He growled again, right before the door opened. Something small landed on his stomach.

"You said you have to call somewhere," Batman reminded him curtly. Oh yes. His phone. The Joker glanced at him haughtily and jerked the cuffs behind his back, one of his eybrows raised. Batsy narrowed his lips and came over to him, freeing his hands and waiting with his gaze locked upon the jester. There was no sweet talking out of this. "NOW."

The Joker tried to fish through his foggy mind for a while, then dialed a number.

"Yes, it's me. No, not today. Yeah. ...Yea. Good," chuckled the Joker and ended the call. Batman bound his hands again, this time in front of his body. "Ya know, I have to call tommorrow again, or... else! Ya know the drill, Bats," he grimaced gleefully. The Bat's only response was to get up and leave.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Pummeling the Joker was for now strictly not an option. Batman's one rule was sacred and solitary – but punching the man lucky enough to survive a recent car crash was ranked in his list of actions too low for him to do - right under harming children and hiting women. It was wrong even in the case of the Joker. But by god! This... this caricature of a man annoyed him to no end. What does he expect to happen? And for how long does he want to drag this on? It was the third day of postponing his threat – and the police still didn't discover anything. One just cannot reason with the Joker... and without the possiblity of beating the anwers out of the him, Bruce grew restless with each day.

It's been... unnerving, to leave the clown (chained and cuffed notwithstanding) alone under the mansion with Alfred in it every time he had to go out, as Batman or as Bruce Wayne. He gritted his teeth. The time of the day slowly had come again, time of the supper, the phone call, his medication and also his endless smirks and taunts. Better get that over with quickly.

He entered silently the emptied storage room housing a mattress, a blanket, a bucket and the currently sleeping Joker and slammed the doors behind him. He watched with a pinch of satisfaction as the Joker winced from his light sleep to the full awareness and pulled away from the masked vigilante to the wall behind his back, the bright eyes not leaving him for even a second, coldly calculating while his common smirk appeared somewhere under the bandaged scars. His hair was overgrown, the wavy green strands reached a bit under his shoulders in a tangled mess and the shorter locks above his forehead were getting stucked in his eyes.

The Joker was silent – that was new. The days before he would not shut up, taunting and getting on his nerves constantly all the time he was conscious. And yet he wouldn't say it was a change for the better. The dark green stare accompanied his every move, as he laid the tray with food in front of the mattress, and narrowed, when Batman pulled out the syringe with another dose of antibiotics. The Joker knew the routine. Medicine. Call. Then he was allowed to start with the food. Then he was left alone till the morning came and brought more food and medicine. But this was his least favourite part, as Batman managed to find out. The first evening the Joker was mostly out. Same as the morning of the second day. Hovewer the evening of the second day wasn't that easy, no. The Joker had some unresolved feelings towards needles, and Batman learned that the hard way – even restrained the Joker managed to burst Batman's lower lip open with his forehead and he bit his hand as well. It truly felt like a handling of a rabid animal.

And Batman didn't feel like giving the jester any chance to cause more damage. He approached him and pressed him under his weight to the mattress, one of his palms pressed the Joker's collared throat into the soft foundation. One of his knees was forcing down the Joker's thighs, the second one immobilized his forearm. Batman quickly delivered the shot and then hastily fell back. Every second of the close proximity to the Joker sickened and enraged him, the way the (make-upless but still) clown writhed under him.

"Call," Batman snapped coldly, forcing the phone into the jester's shaking cuffed hands. And he did.

"Eat," the dark knight ordered him after that, when (instead of eating everything on the tray as the days before) the Joker drew himself away from him, to the corner. His eyes were... a bit different this time. They were watching him without blinking, closely. For one brief moment Batman felt like the prey, observed by a hungry beast. The Joker's overgrown and strangely a bit green tinted nails dug into a cloth on his own knees, his grin was more sinister than the usually amused one. It was stretching the stitches on his face in a vile manner.

"Who cut your face?" It came to his mind and out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Who would be warped enough to put a smile on the Joker's face – for the second time? He didn't believe that the Joker did that to himself, even if it was possible. One could never guess what was probable in the matter of the Joker.

"Who would have thought? The silent treatment actually works," the Joker smirked in rough voice.

Batman stared him down.

"Why ask? Don't ya find me pretty anymore?" the jester bared his yellowed teeth in affected smile. Deep in the green eyes flashed something almost delighted, when Batman gritted his teeth and clenched his fists.

"None of your business, that's what it is," the green-haired man twitched his shoulders after a pause.

"Wrong. Catching another crazy lunatic running around and carving people's faces is exactly my business," Batman growled.

"I am NOT crazy. I am NOT," the Joker narrowed his eyes. "On the other hand, what would anyone say about you? Taking care of your enemy, as lovingly as you do, instead of shoving him back into the asylum – y'see, this might raise a few, tiny, nagging questions here and there."

"Nobody knows. Nobody will know."

"Says who? I heard that Gotham journalists pay well for a fat haul like this. And then... ya know. 'There is no smoke without fire.' And there would be probably enough people thinking - what is it exactly between you and me?.... Afterall, I feel almost spoiled here," the Joker grimaced, something bitter in his tone. Then, with a loud rattle, he jerked and raised his cuffed hands in defence. Water from the paper cup dripped down his face, sandwiches were all over his lap and on the mattress too, along with the flipped tray. The doors slammed shut. The Joker was once again alone.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"I want my coat back."

"No." That damn thing just reeked, smell of sweat, blood, gasoline and smoke was deeply embroidered throughout the ridiculously coloured cloth.

"I want my coat back, I WANT it."

"No."

"I WANT IT BACK."

"I burned it," Batman snapped. A lie. He only wanted to... and felt incredibly guilty, when Alfred cleaned it up.

"Fine then. You burn my stuff, I burn yours," the Joker dropped the phone on the ground. Batman winced, for a second afraid that it broke. When he picked it up, it seemed to work, thankfully.

"Call. And I will bring you your coat."

"Now. Before I call. Or else better start to look for some marshmallows."

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"Time to change your bandages."

"No need."

"That wasn't asking for permission," Batman retorted coldly. He didn't look forward to this part – but he kept putting it off for several days now. He had no idea how the Joker would respond – but he brought this annoucement up after the Joker's call.

"Oh, but ya won't touch me. If ya value your fingers enough," the clown scowled.

"Try to bite and I'll give you a muzzle you deserve," the bat fended off this threat lightly, but with warning in his voice.

"The dog that cannot bite might bark quite loudly, once free," the Joker countered with an amused smirk.

"Meaning...?"

"Wanna play a guessing game, Batsy?" No. He was not in the mood for any games, it seemed. The Joker's other cheek encountered sharply the rough wall behind him and before he could recover, the bat-brain shoved his face again into the mattress, unbinding his hands and taking his vest and shirt by force. The Joker gritted his teeth. He hated.. hated that feeling. That obtrusive weight pinned him down and took away his choices. It flushed away any tattered remains of his mind's clarity, it forced the shattered fragments of his memories to strike down at him, fiercely and violently. He screamed and all the injuries utterly forgotten, he struggled vigorously against the other man's body. Batman, unprepared for such resistance, slid on the floor, followed by the Joker's attack. This was abruptly stopped only by the length of the chain, and the Joker raved choking on his collar, his eyes alien and wild, the green irises almost black.

Batman watched him warily out of the Joker's reach. With some of the conversations lately, he could almost forget that this man was interned in the asylum for a reason. What triggered this? It was hardly the punching. The Joker always seemed to be used to it. Even enjoy it, sometimes deliberately provoke it. Something trickled down his face, and when the caped crusader touched his cheek, he discovered two deep scratches on the skin not covered with the mask. He narrowed his eyes. Great. The clown just had to complicate all things. Well, he was going to make this very simple. With one accurately measured hit he knocked the Joker out. Then he smoothly cleaned and dressed his wounds, this time without any unwanted intrusions.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Finding Alice (Marc Jungermann)

**IV.**

 

Ten days. It's been ten days. The commissioner and the police didn't sleep much, trying to get the Mad Hatter and to detect explosives downtown. The Batman worked all night. Wayne the billionaire officialy took a vacation. And Bruce was... tired. It was easier and easier to snap at the Joker with the smallest of provocations. He may have discovered a few things about his archenemy, but he had an unpleasant suspicion that this was mutual. And despite Batman's short temper, the Joker was recovering from his injuries. And with every day it was more tedious to endure those short meetings.

"Who cut your face?" Batman asked again, even his tone was weary. He didn't expect a different answer than the one he got the first time. The green stare measured him thoroughly.

"What's in it for me, sweetheart, if I tell ya?" The jester surprised him with a relatively calm and collected voice.

"I won't punch you this time."

The Joker's expression could speak for itself. One raised eyebrow, half smirk and tilted head.

"All right. What do you want?"

"Out of this hole. Ya know, when I said 'your place' I had no idea that ya wanted me to rattle in your closet, Bats."

"That wasn't the deal."

"Well, then I want ya to alter the deal."

"No. Pick something else."

The Joker's stare darkened, just for a second. His smile grew wider then, his tone was almost sweet. "As ya wish. All that I want is just to have my paints back, Bats," the jester leaned calmly against the wall. There was always something unsettling about the Joker being anything close to calm and innocently looking.

"Deal. So...?"

"Well," the Joker picked an apple from his breakfast tray and smiled, as if a memory occurred to him at that moment. "No name. I only know his face. All young and pretty, erm... hair something between blonde and ginger. Blue eyes, yep. Aaand freckles, definitely those. If he was more tanned, he'd be a bit like that bacon buddy of yours," he smirked. "Oh, I mean - before his little... accident, of course."

Batman forced himself not to. Even though he wanted to punch that grin out of the Joker's face, he knew better than well that the task would be impossible. "Any affiliation?"

"Mmmmm... I think so, yea."

"… so?" Batman growled after a moment of silence.

"… what?" the Joker gave him a surprised look, an inch away from biting an apple. "Baaats... Come on. Did ya honestly expect that I'd tell ya that? There would be no fun in it. **I** wanna pay him a visit, you'd just spoil everythin'."

"We had a deal," Batman gritted his teeth.

"Yep. And I altered it."

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

With a deep breath, the Joker smelled the oily theatre paints with the pleasure of meeting a good old friend. Deep red and black... Even the white foundation. The Joker didn't use it often, he didn't need it – but the effect was better that way, making the skin not only pale, but paper-white. With almost childlike impatience he opened the first of the tubes and started to apply the greasepaint – he didn't need a mirror. He never did. Even with cuffed hands, erm, it was easy. It became as natural as breathing... for this **was** his true face. He very carefully applied the black around his still sensitive left eye. Well, Batsy didn't feel like appreciating his deal altering. But the Joker meant this very seriously – this guy was his and his only. And the day when he'd repay his kind visit in the asylum was just too close to let it slip from his fingers. He smeared the red on his lips, the taste of blood from the broken lip and the metallic accent of the paint went together well. What an **irony** , chuckled the Joker to himself. Anyway, the Bat didn't leave empty handed – and the Mad Hatter would undoubtedly understand that sacrifices sometimes have to be made. Who cares? We don't, the Joker smirked and picked up an apple which he decided not to eat before. He painted a white circle on the fruit's green, spotty skin, then added two black spots and an irregular, but very wide red smile.

To his surprise, the apple was very fit to (kind of) a rational conversation.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

It was a dark, stormy day in Gotham. The sky was black, the heavy ropes of rain violently drummed into the roofs and the pavement. Weather as bad as this usually kept Batman from even trying to patrol over Gotham (well, it usually kept most of the criminals from their attempts too). Today, however, it was a chance to check up on information that the Joker gave him before nightfall. The Mad Hatter's hideout was, according to the jester's words, located in the Narrows. An absolutely ordinary flat, no hints or jokes in it, no abandoned labs or empty warehouses involved. Could this be true?

Thunder cracked deafeningly right above his eared cowl. Batman tried to keep his movements close to the walls and roofs, especially during lightning strikes, and approached the small cracked window of the small and dingy roof flat. Inside he saw a familiar face with greasy dark ginger hair, a patchwork greenish leather coat and the indispensable huge top hat on his head. The Mad Hatter sat on the dirty wooden floor next to a cup of tea. He was carefully stitching a hole in a blue girls dress on his lap. He looked like he was talking to himself... The Bat didn't wait for long before bursting inside.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Before the bat-brain decided to finally show up again, the wall behind the Joker was covered in scribbles and drawings. A flock of little black batsies. A pig, consisting of geometrical shapes, with a curled tail and a quite mischievous (almost sinister) smile. Several of the bright red grin faces, a few hangman gallows, and tic-tac-toes, and a lot more.

 

Batman watched him for a while in complete silence, the jester drawing whatever crossed his mind, and the clown apple playing the audience. Evidently the Joker was pretty capable of amusing himself with anything available. Almost anything – Bruce was very thankful for once that the clown used only the paints and the blood to vandalize the concrete wall, and did not reach for contents of the bucket.

He laid the tray down. The green-haired man surely knew about his presence, and obviously decided to ignore him. Not that Bruce would mind that. He dropped the phone on the mattress.

The Joker responded with a sour glance of a disturbed sleeping cat, closely followed by a wide, friendly grin.

"Hello there. Tell me, Bats, would ya – do your manners melt down with a bit of rain? Or did the white rabbit steal your tongue?" the clown mocked him, while picking up the phone and dialing another number.

"Yeah, me. No. Yea, right – this turned into a pretty bad game," the Joker chuckled sharply, watching alertly the dark knight, the almost pleased grin still dancing across the scarred, vermillion tinted lips. It didn't go away even after Batman snatched the phone out of his fingers.

"How do you know that it's raining outside?"

"The bats told me, of course," the jester smirked. "Or maybe it's those puddles you leave behind. Either you drowned the Batmobile, or it's pissing outside solidly,"he shrugged, his voice disinterested.

"It's not a Batmobile."

"Sure."

 

However today was not one of those days that the Bat wanted to stay and chat. Of course. The Joker grinned and started with his dinner. He wasn't a picky eater, nor would anyone dare to accuse him of being some fancy posh gurmet, but now he slowly savoured each bite. He had a suspicion that this would be his last peaceful meal for some time. Or rather any meal, eh. Or - the Joker thought about that option in detail – Bats would lose his temper, he'd trash him around this shithole mercilessly and then, guildtripped by his own mind much more efficiently than anyone else could manage to do, he might take very good care of him again. Oh, the possibilities! - or, the Joker's eyes gleamed in mirth, this, this would be the time Batman finally breaks his only rule...

The bat settlement in the cave and its surroundings shivered nervously and then with a rustle of thousands of wings it rushed out into the rainy night, away from the underground resonating with an unending, overexcited cackle of the Clown Prince of Crime.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

He couldn't believe his eyes. He did not expect this – not with the Joker safely locked under his mansion. But here he stood, lead by the batsignal, and there it was – the white painted face, the all-knowing smirk and a challenging stare of the eyes, in the terrible quality of the video record deep and dark as if the black paint around them was able to seep in and taint the familiar green. Batman watched warily, as the cackling madman addressed the audience in front of the screen:

"They say that age is wisdom, but youth is the future. Well, in our today's another little experiment we'll see what is more precious to the vigilantes and the so called protectors of this city. What... for example... does **Batman** hold more dear. Will it be silver hair and stale lives of the many? Or … would that be a single pair of the children... of good parentage and a promising future? Hmm? He's got... let's see, fourteen hours, twelve minutes and five seconds exactly to figure that out! Hah! Now now... I would strongly recommend to all blue-brains NOT to spoil the fun. If any of my people spot a cop too close... it won't be a laughing matter. Or wait – cross that. It very much will be that," and the video ended with maniacal laughter.

"He has them," Gordon's voice was silent and husky. "He's got Jamie and Barbara."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the dreaded bad chapter. Brace yourselves! The graphic violence and non-con is coming. If you cannot take it, skip it to the part under the last bat.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Monster (Skillet), Breath of Life (Florence)
> 
> And I've finished some fan art to my story:
> 
> http://naervon.deviantart.com/art/Why-so-serious-619799737
> 
> http://naervon.deviantart.com/art/Is-that-all-you-ve-got-619800667

**V.**

 

The door burst open. It felt like only moments after the Joker allowed himself to fall asleep – the door's bang, Batman's growl and his own back's impact against the painted wall.

"WHERE ARE THOSE KIDS!!?"

"Ay! Didn't your parent teach ya to knock?" the Joker scowled, with a mocking spark in his eyes. He managed to evade the first hard punch and cackled when the Bat hit the wall. The next blow didn't miss the target – the Joker blinked, when cascades of red sparkles burst behind his eyelids, followed by another hard hit.

"WHERE ARE THEY!?"

"How should I know? I was here, all the time," the Joker smiled widely, his front teeth stained with blood. Hit to the shoulder, then to the ribs – something crunched, the Joker wheezed and then started to laugh, the unstoppable avalanche of wet cackles, every single one gripping tighly his chest in a stab of pain. But it didn't stop the heavy fists from raining down on his body.

"And... by t-the way... hah... I-I've... told ya every... everything... ah ha ha... ya need to know. Did ya leave your... brain in... 'nother suit? Where's... that world's greatest... d-dettective n-now?" the laughter was only getting more intense, the barking-like chuckles were only diversified with gasps for breath.

 

Not for the first time, it occurred to Batman that the Joker's laughter means the same as a normal person's cry of pain. Like cats, purring in pleasure and pain both. It was a creepy idea, to think of someone that twisted... But Batman didn't want to think about it, at all. Right now he was frustrated and angry and it felt damn good to let some steam off. Especially with the painted demon laughing to his face, as if the pain was only something for the narrow-minded, for boring normal people that are beneath him.

Everything the clown has done and destroyed, every life he left behind crushed in his wake, every drop of fear and madness he unleashed upon Batman's city – even if he wanted to give the Joker the benefit of the doubt and not to think about any possible cases outside of Gotham, it was still too much... and all without even a hint of remorse. There was just too much searing hate for this self-centered mad king of fire and blades. Even badly injured and locked away he managed to put peoples's lives in danger.

How could anyone blame Batman for just... letting go, for a moment? Enjoying all the crushing blows to the lithe, almost gaunt body in front of him? Covering that insufferable grin with thicker and thicker layer of blood? Each slam of his fists was making that goddamn laughter weaker and more forced.

 

But... in one solitary moment of Batman's clarity, it was still not enough. Not enough... Even dying, this piece of mind fucked crap would laugh and taunt him that way.

He stopped and breathing heavily, he looked down on the bloodied form of his mad archenemy. All of this, all of his rage... it wasn't enough to truly, deeply hurt him. No physical force could do such a thing. But... those past days gave him some clues what could be done... about this green-haired lunatic.

The lunatic that watched him right now, his absinth-coloured eyes hazed and underpainted with red, and probably could follow him even on the paths of his thoughts – as the Joker's grin slowly dissappeared from his lips, his eyes becoming alert. And wide opened, when Batman smirked – the Bats eyes darker than before.

'No', the Joker's lips formed soundlessly, right before Batman shoved him to the matress and forced him face down with with his own weight. The dark knight opened the cuffs and rebound the Joker's wrists behind his back.

It was only fair that the madman paid his price for all suffering he casted onto Gotham, his beloved city mistaken for the clown's playground.

The jester squirmed and writhed under his body, bucked and arched as all the wounds the Bat inflicted upon him dissappeared, growling as a wild animal. It was... satisfying at least, to be able to turn the tables at last, with the clown fighting desperately under him.

"Not... this.. not, not again..." Batman could understand after a while what is it that the Joker murmurs through the painfully gritted teeth. The vigilante's lips curled up a bit in a mirthless smile, then he grabbed the Joker's collar and forced his head back, to look at him. He wasn't entirely sure that the jester could see him right now – the lunatic raved, his unfocused stare full of fear and pain. It was... strangely arousing, to have this kind of power over an enemy – over this enemy at particular. There was almost nothing that you could use against the Joker, and the fact Batman found something that cast fear even upon this nightmare incarnate,was as refreshing as mouthful of water in the middle of the desert. The air was thick with heavy scent of blood.

Batman couldn't remember when and if ever he had even a bit of control over the Joker. It felt great... and there was only one thing that this moment of absolute dominance could make even better.

He slightly moved his body and torn the Joker's shirt, then he ripped the purple fabric of his trousers. He didn't care that the clown was after almost two weeks of his stay under the manor pretty dirty, allowed to wash himself only once a day in a bucket of lukewarm water with his wrists still cuffed. He didn't even think about... pretty much anything. Only thing, only thought, only one burning desire rushed him forward, and accompanied by the jester's skullsplattering screams, he unbuckled his belt and freed his manhood, then he forced himself mercilessly into the thin, cat-like body under him, that resisted him with dry and painful unwillingness at first. After a while, the blood did let him move more...

The Joker's lower back under his gloved hand shivered, even through the fabric of the gauntlet Batman could feel distinct bumps of the clowns spine, him shaking ceaslessly, muscles under the milk-pale skin twitching with every thrust. And with every thrust the jester became more silent and still. It didn't take long for the Bat to come, harsh moan escaped his throat, the other gloved hand clawed into the clown's hip.

 

When he was done, the man under him didn't move, didn't scream, didn't laugh at all – not even a giggle. Batman pulled off and turned the lunatic over, so he would face the ceiling... the Joker moved as a ragdoll. There was only one silent sigh, and a faint smile left on his scarred lips. Bruce's heart felt sinking down. There was no movement of the Joker's chest.

The clown watched him with glossy, unseeing eyes, glowing green radiance of the irises dampened. It felt like ice-cold talons plunging into Bruce's breast, gripping firmly and squeezing slowly, but inevitably. Bruce was shocked – Batman didn't have time for that, it took merely a second before he acted and crossed his palms on the Joker's chest, pushing in steadily he started to fight with the enemy in a different manner of dance, trying to persuade his heart working again.

 

It would be so easy... to leave him be. To dump him in some dark alley, or throw him in the river. No one would know... the persuasive, tempting voice in his head sounded suspiciously like the Joker himself. No... he wouldn't even know, but he would win this damn game, if Batman gave up now. The only thing to do now was to hope, hope that it's not too late. He lowered his head to the clown's bloodied lips and forced air into his lungs.

As he felt the metallic taste in his mouth, ragged edges of the reopened scars and movement of the several teeth under his lips, the sharp edges of the rebroken ribs under his palms, the truth of it started to wear him down. He already lost. He already turned into the monster the Joker had always somehow seen in him, with his endless rants about both of them being so similar. In the end... the clown was right about him all along. He was supposed to be Batman, the incorruptible symbol, the fighter for justice, the dark knight, the watchful guardian, Gotham's devout vigilante... and he just killed a man. Not just a man – the Joker. And he did it in the way none, not even an inhuman mad creature the Joker was, deserved to go...

 

His grim thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a movement under his hand, a small flutter, unsure and weak, followed by another one. The Joker took a shallow, wheezy and strenuous breath. A faint whimper escaped Bruce's lips, the relief has overflown him completely.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Where did she put that damn thing? Hmm... Here it is, the blonde fished the missing file out of the drawer. To lose any patient's file (again) would be unprofessional, even if she didn't really care. There were only a few interesting patients in Arkham... Jonathan, for example. There were days when she could talk to him as equal, more of a doctor to a doctor than doctor to a patient – he was probably much more clever than most of her colleagues. Or Jervis – there weren't many members of the medical staff with patience for the Tetcher's wonderland blabbing, but she found it highly amusing. Sometimes he even called her 'Alice'.

And any session with Edward was practically a battle of wits, he kept her on her toes all those fourty-five minutes from the first second till the last one. But there wasn't a patient more interesting than... her friend, mister J. Curious, how quickly she began to feel like that – she genuinely wanted to help him. Anytime he smiled at her, something warm and fuzzy bounced in her stomach. She didn't mind the scars – they were a part of him, one shard in a perfect, colorful mosaic. Almost as colorful as his folder of medical diagnosis. Half of them were... doubtworthy at minimum.

But he wasn't here and she wondered what's he doing right now. Does he ever think about her? She sighed and opened the file, preparing herself for another session. Probably not. She wished he would... but the Joker was more of a man of the moment.

But now, there was not a time for daydreaming. She was already late.

"Doctor Arkham? Did you want to speak to me?" Jeremiah Arkham, the asylum's director, smiled at her mirthlessly and with a nod invited her into his office.

"Correct. Perhaps you have already heard that the Joker is back. After this week you will return to counselling him," his cold grey eyes graced her with a pensive look from behind the rectangular glasses. "I believe you'll be able to fit him into your schedule."

Harleen lifted her chin a bit, narrowed her lips. She felt like a child again, every time he'd spoken to her. But he spoke like this to almost everyone.

"Of course. What about this week?"

"He'll stay in the infirmary. His condition at arrival was critical," the director looked down at his papers, obviously disinterested in any other words with her. Critical?

"Thank you. Is that all?" she asked as calmly as she could manage.

"That will be all. Good day, Dr. Quinzel."

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Blood on my Boots (Eliza Carthy), Back to Black (The Great Gatsby soundtrack)
> 
> I was reminded that the time hops I do in this chapter can be confusing... So, just for clarity, a small timeline notes added. In italics are the Joker's dreams. I finally cut into the KYL Joker's origins, as I love to merge the classic Batman and Joker with Nolanverse. Therefore are in this chapter some bits from the 'Batman Begins' movie.

**VI.**

 

_(late night and morning of the following day)_

Guilt. And guilt. And more guilt. How can he look into anyone's eyes and keep his head held high? Anywhere he looked he was greeted by disenchanted faces.

Dead and amused Joker's – even if he'd never see him again, there was no way he could ever erase that memory.

Serious Alfred's – if only the old butler knew his suspicious look was fully justified. He let the clown to drag him downhill, where nothing exists... except violence.

Disbelieving Dr. Frank's – he promised him to take care of the Joker. How that turned out... That good old man ignored him, rushing to fix all the damage that the caped crusader had caused.

Anxious Gordon's – when with only few hours left Batman still hadn't got a clue what to do.

Disappointed Selina's – he brushed her off after almost two weeks of silence, when they had met on one of Gotham's rooftops tonight.

And a somewhat derisive stare of the apple with a painted Joker's grin - when he came back to the bat cave to try to figure out the clues. The apple, those scribbles on the wall... the purple coat, carefully folded as pillow on the matress. The purple leather gloves, lying on the ground. The phone with a cracked display. The tubes with paint. The splatters of blood. Every breath he took in there sickened him. Every little detail screamed what he'd done, deafening him with regrets. And he was not one single, tiny step closer to solving the case.

'They say that age is wisdom... but youth is the future.' Think, Bruce.

'It won't be a laughing matter. Or wait – cross that. It very much will be that...' Laughing matter?

'… silver hair and stale lives of the many' – group of the old people? Any of the several senior's homes around Gotham?

'Single pair of children... of good parentage and a promising future.' Future mentioned again. It might be a concidence... But what is coincidence with the Joker? Broken, bloody smile... lithe, pliant body under him... Grip of his gloved hands in the green hair. Batman pressed the knuckles of his fists to his temples. No. He cannot fail again... there's no excuse for failing the innocent. Concentrate! Think.

'Fourteen hours, twelve minutes and five seconds exactly'... Why that? No one could expect round, normal number of him... sure. 14, 12, 5. And only three hours left. Fourteen hours is an awful lot of time for any action, if Batman wasn't distracted... But he was.

'No... not this again...' The hands holding down the pale back... He wondered how would it feel, without the gloves. Soft, rough? Hot... cold? He could find each bone even with the gloves... "I'm going crazy."

Two hours fifty minutes.

 

'14125'... What if... Batman walked over to the bat computer and entered the number. Find possible location... Searching.

Two hours fifteen minutes left. Sunrise. The Joker's been probably delivered to Arkham now, as Bruce asked Frank to do, and if not dead, he's probably safely out of the way.

'Youth is the future. Promising future.' Could that be? Screen of the bat computer revealed a short list of the possibilities and Bruce quickly glanced over it. That's it! 141 house number, 25 th Avenue.

He went back to the cell. Maybe if he tried again to track the last call the Joker made... He froze, when he noticed some of the hangmen on the wall. Some of them were almost complete.

W _ R L D - I S – N _ T – F A I R.

F _ T _ R E – I _ - H I _ T O R Y.

S M _ L E, B.

'World is not fair. Future is history. Smile, B.'

Bruce felt in that moment as somebody kicked him in the stomach.

 

"The Joker's targets are people in Bell Gardens Seniors' home, 25 th Avenue. The kids are hostages in the abandoned world's fair amusement park, section of Future Expo. Secure the Home, I'm gonna get the kids."

"Understood," Gordon's voice sounded relieved and tired at the same time.

Rain was softly falling over the grey and chilly morning, draping the roof of the Batmob- his car, and a cold mist lay in tattered shreds over the wet ground. He sped up a bit more. It was quite far away from downtown, southwest of the city... and the end of the deadline was cutting closer.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_(the evening of the day)_

He looked so... fragile. The man perfectly capable to kill on a single change of mood, with the survival force of a cornered, wounded beast and the mind sharper than a scalpel, lay there motionless, nearly lost under all the cast and bandages. He may have healed quicker than others, he may have borne the pain better than most, he might seem to have as many lives as a cat - but under all of that he was still only a human.

Harleen came closer and leaned over the Joker, almost as if she hoped to be grabbed by the neck and under a blade or a tip of some infirmary equipment to become the escape route for him. He wouldn't hurt her for real... And the tiny pin of doubt (wouldn't he, really?) made it always thrilling.

But now... He was laying still and the pale skin not covered with paints was more grey-ish than his usual porcelain white. There were black shadows around the eyes, his lips were pale and chapped. He didn't react even when she touched his face, his scarred lips, so cold... she softly laid her other hand on his chest just to ensure he was breathing, that his heart was still beating. When it was, a bit calmer, she curiously touched the bandages on his cheeks. What did they do to his scars? And his neck... bruised almost completely to black.

Lights in the hallway dimmed, it was too late... She should go. Actually, she should have gone an hour ago. But what if he wakes up? What if he needs something? Aneta, the night shift nurse, was known for spending her hours with tiny naps here and there – and she was a heavy sleeper.

Harleen bit her lower lip. He needed her now more than before. And she was his doctor, no matter that psychiatrist and not a physician. She might get in trouble... but this was important. She put her case on the ground and slipped out of her black pumps, then she removed her glasses and put them on the nightstand. She carefully reclined alongside the green-haired man and exhaled softly. Never been so close... in the dusky room she rested her cheek on the pillow next to the Joker's head and with the eyes wide open she drank in the sharp profile of his face.

He wasn't beautiful. Some probably wouldn't call him even handsome. Awake, he usually radiated something that fascinated everyone, even those who'd hate him. He could spark a grip of fear with a single smile, and a surge of panic with a single frown. When he talked, to believe his words was easier than breathing. She smiled a bit, gently touched the green locks and whispered:

"Sweet dreams, puddin'."

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_Noise. Why... what is it? Some woman, screaming... familiar. Everything hurt... when he looked down on his body, there was nothing wrong with it. He shrugged, then his long pale fingers quickly searched through the pockets. Wait. Are those jeans? Christ's sake... he curled his lips in a revolted grin. A lighter, a knife – only one? Some keys to whatever hell it was. Some creased greenbacks. Everything was smudged, as somebody bashed him to the head._

_He looked around and grabbed the tommy gun firmly, then gazed down. The darkened hall, fenced galleries around the walls, down there vats with chemicals and people in orange jumpers operating at workbenches. The sound of flowing water, showing here and there through the broken water supply pipes. And a girl... He leaned over the railing and narrowed his eyes. She was under Crane's toxin._

_"Who knows you're here?" Crane's voice sounded rasp from under the mask. The girl shrieked, trying to turn her face away. She was pretty. Pity, she probably wouldn't last long. The lights went out. He readied the gun and searched through the higher galleries, as Crane down there tore off the mask. His eyes gleamed, almost as in delighted expectation. "He's here."_

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

  
  


_(morning of the day, shortly after Batman to the rescue)_

She shuffled through a drawer for a while before finding a can opener. The sound of the opening was enough for all her furry babies to gather around, meowing eagerly. Their eyes followed her hands closely and they plunged their heads into the bowls as soon as they could. She envied them a bit – a warm place to sleep and a full tummy was enough for them to be happy. With people... it was much more complicated, unfortunately.

The roof, on which they met tonight, was glistening after the rain. The air was humid and a starless sky full of heavy clouds promised another rainy day tommorrow.

"Hello there, Bat... long time no see," she purred from behind his wide shoulders and snuggled her cheek against his armoured arm. He could feel her smile more from her tone than her face. He smiled back – faintly though, and even that faded as quickly as it appeared. "Miss me?"

"Of course," he uttered after a small pause, as he would only now realize she asked. She wrinkled her eyebrows under the mask and tried to enfold her arms around his waist. He didn't let her – with some half-finished excuse he was gone again. He looked kind of abashed... but even so, this was unacceptable. How dare he just... brush her off like some troublesome pest?

She checked the clock on the wall, her lips narrowed. No use going to sleep – she should be at work in an hour, it was well past dawn when she returned home. She yawned widely and made herself comfortable on the sofa with a cup of coffee, turning on the TV, and scratched Dustpaw behind his ears as he settled on her lap.

"… many died, a few were hospitalized. According to eyewitnesses, all of those directly affected by the gas lost consciousness while laughing hysterically. The director of the Bell Gardens refused to comment on the matter. The police commissioner stated that it was impossible to disarm all the devices under the building in the given time. Was there truly no possibility to prevent this horrible crime?" The pretty blonde reporter then carried on with the news. When announcing the Batman saving the two kidnapped children, something creaked behind Selina. She turned her head swiftly, but before she could see, someone pressed a sickly sweet smelling rag to her mouth and nose. Her cats hissed and growled fiercely as she dropped off.

 

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_"Who?"_

_"The Bat... Man."_

_"What do we do?"_

_"What anyone does, when a prowler comes around... Call the police."_

_"You want the cops... here?"_

_"At this point, they can't stop us. But the Bat-Man has a talent for disruption. Force him out and police will take him down."_

_"What about her?"_

_"Oh, she hasn't got long, I gave her a concentrated dose. The mind can only take so much... Now go."_

_"The things they say about him... Can he really fly?" "I heard he can dissappear."_

_"Well... We'll find out. Won't we?"_

_A shadow scurried across the ceiling. Adrenaline rushed high, without knowing, he was smiling as widely as he could. It hurt... as if he cared. The hall shivered under the bullet volley from all the guns, as all of the armed men tried to put the bat man down. The vigilante punched his way through the pair of thugs, and then he stood before him... Quicker than a blink, the bat knocked the gun out of his hand and almost evaded the swipe of a blade. The tip of the edge made its way across the dark armor, left a shallow scratch and in a silver flash the knife fell down to the floor as well. A second too long out of focus, when his eyes followed his last weapon disappearing in the dark... A powerful impact of the bat's hand landing hard on his chest. The railing broke behind his back, under his weight and the persistence of the hit. He couldn't breathe... Remember. I remember this..._

_His eyes opened wide as his fingers trying to hold on something raked only through the air and he was falling down, winded and panicked. The glass, covering one of the vats, shattered under him. The fluid spurted high, as he crashed hard on the bottom of the container. The pain... everything was burning. He arched violently and groaned, it didn't even sound like his voice. The darkness closed over him._

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the following one will be a bit shorter - for it was originally only one long chapter that I've decided to split. I've caught myself, so these two chapters are the last what I have - the next chapters are yet to be written. Also, please excuse me if there will be more mistakes in the following text than before. A friend helped me a bit in my battle with articles and tenses, but since this is walking right into a slash territory that he really hates to read, I'm on my own now. Wish me luck! :o)
> 
> Also, just a small note - in this story, the events of the Batman Begins regarding battle with Scarecrow and Ra's al Ghul are roughly about two years from the events of The Dark Knight. The story happens four years after TDK, and I altered some facts. Two-face is alive, the Harvey Dent law flopped, and there is little to no chance I will try to entwine the story with TDKR when the timeline calls, sorry.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Hate at First Sight (Lordi), Crazy (Gnarls Barkley), Poison (A. Cooper, Tarja Turunen version).

**VII.**

 

_He writhed, every second weaker... then he took a strenuous, painful breath. The liquid seared his lips, tongue and mouth, scorched his throat... caught him in a spasm, he coughed up all the caustic stuff from his weeping lungs and took in sour, but airy breath, then another. He lay only in a puddle – there were so many bullet holes in the container that the liquid was draining out quickly. He tried to open his eyes, everything was burning white. The muscles cramped, the head felt like exploding. Something rushed inside the bones, corrosive and painful beyond imagination... He felt all the muscles in his face stretching over the limits. He was practically naked, the clothing turned into a slimy goo. When he tried to stand, all of it just... ran down in gelatinuous scraps, along with his hair._

_He went with fists against the damaged plate of the vat, no matter he got his knuckles bloody, he didn't stop before the way to the freedom was opened enough. He attempted to find his way out of the asylum... His skin was sticky, every wink made him think that he couldn't open the lids anymore, his bare feet felt like walking on freshly spat bubblegums, and that thought made him giggle._

_And then... he opened his eyes wide again and finally saw. Him. Standing out from the blur around and inside his head. A dark, pointy-eared figure, majestic, with wide shoulders and cape flowing to the ground... Surrounded by thousands of bats. Bats... batsbatsbatsybats. Big bat and small mini-hes. Something about that image was sacred and hilarious at the same time. The flapping of countless tiny wings. Sounded like a song... bats everywhere. He started to laugh... why does that hurt so much? Not the skin... not the burns, something in his insides._

_The police sirens whined, it bothered him... everything seemed and sounded like he was observing the world around from under water. A rough surface of the pavement outside bit sharply into his bare feet. He walked slowly into one of the dark alleys surrounding the place, thankful for the cool night breeze gently touching the irritated skin of his body._

_"Hey! Stop right there!"_

_He sighed and turned around, hands raised lazily. "What now?" He intended to say, but nothing more than a groan came out, flashed hot in his throat. One of the policemen waiting by the cars approached him. He could see fear in that man's eyes. It felt good. He didn't think that many people cared about him, feared him or in fact reacted in any way to him before. Fear is a good change, even though he couldn't see exactly why that changed now. He let the man in uniform come close, before quickly grabbing his gun hand._

_When he wrenched the pistol out of it and shot the officer dead, he continued his journey. His haven was nearby. And even when his keys were probably a slump of goo somewhere on the asylum grounds, he was able to manage without it._

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Did he dream? She thought so. His expression changed a bit sometimes, but she doubted that other staff noticed. She was lucky that the morning after the night spent side by side with Gotham's most wanted unstable and officialy insane murderer no one saw her leave the infirmary. Or caught her red-handed. It was too stupid and too risky... But she would do it again. Several days passed by, the Joker was getting a bit better, but still didn't wake up. This time he was trashed properly, and from the admission examination document there was a lot of things done to the man... Who would do that? Who would have a reason and a mind sick enough to try and torture the Joker? Was it someone from the asylum? Or someone from the outside, holding a grudge? Or worse – does that mean that Gotham held another lost soul, that yet had to be caught? Right now, there were no patients from the Asylum on the loose.

She surely knew about few people that would fit the list of the inmates very well – Catwoman, for example. Or Batman. There were a lot of people praising the dark knight as a hero... but from her knowledge, there wasn't that much of a difference from some of her patients. And nobody ever thought about the masked vigilante himself could turn rogue on Gotham. How would the police catch the mister I-go-as-I-please and I-can-beat-anyone if they usually struggle to capture any of the criminally insane part of Arkham inmates? A reign of terror would come, that no one wants to even consider. All of them simply believe that the Bat will forever fight for justice, not even knowing who wears the black pointy mask. It was extremely naive... but there was almost nothing anyone could do about that.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"I should give up the cape."

"Master Bruce?"

The younger man gazed upon the butler, as Alfred put down before him a plate with scrambled eggs and ham and refilled his mug with hot coffee. "Not that I would want to question an opportunity to sleep soundly without worrying about you and your night excursions, sir, but – why suddenly now?" The older man smiled kindly.

Bruce went straight for the second cup of coffee instead of touching his breakfast. "I did... something I would have never thought I would be capable of, Alfred," he sighed softly after a moment of choosing the right words.

"I hurt and almost killed a person." I violated another living and thinking being, seriously injured and without the possibility of escape. I took advantage of his vulnerability and exploited his weakness in some misshapen power trip. I let the worst of me to prevail and take over, even for a while. Those all words got stuck on his lips, as he was ashamed to admit them out loud.

"A person, sir? More like a homicidal maniac with a death wish and a special fondness for taunting anyone in his presence over the edge."

"It doesn't matter. I swore to myself that whatever I do, I would never kill a human being. And the Joker is no exception to humanity," his voice sounded tired. He was pale, and the dark shadows under his eyes could rival to those of his archenemy.

"Are you sure, sir?"

Bruce caught the butler's look and smiled for a moment faintly. He wasn't sure. But...

"I can't allow myself to justify failures with exceptions," he sipped the hot coffee and hissed as his lips burned a bit. "If I do, I'll end up in a padded cell in the better case. In the worse, I'll share that cell with the clown."

"Don't worry, master Bruce. If you do, I will smuggle there a rasper for you."

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_An old and almost blind mirror in the dingy bathroom showed him a strange creature. His skin was darker than this before... right? Maybe not. The long fingers with a green tinted nails touched the dirty, rough surface. It was him. He really was the pale creature on the other side. A bald head. No eyebrows or eyelashes. No stubble, or any other hairs. Thin – as if the skin and muscles tightly hugged the bones, almost no body fat left. The muscles on his face still stretched in a strange grimace, showing darkened gums and teeth - at least the teeth looked more or less the same, sharp and bit yellowed as before._

_And then... there were the eyes. He leaned closer and opened them wide. All of the blood vessels ruptured, making the whites bright red. And instead of the familiar brown... there was almost phosforic green, going darker closer to pupils. He felt shaking... a laughter was bubbling up his chest, resonating through all of his body, chimed the strange rib-broken feeling of his obviously intact chest. He dug his nails into the tensed muscles around his mouth. Close, damn this... close now. The nail tips broke the skin, trickles of blood tickled down his chin. Trickles tickled. Soft giggles tingled up his throat, quickly turned to an irritated groan. Shut your bloody mouth! It made more sense now than before._

_But his face didn't listen. Didn't obey, didn't care. He growled, rapidly searching for anything sharp. He ripped open the drawers of the kitchen counter. A very dead rat, several very alive roaches, a hammer, colorful cocktail straws, a gun, some canned peaches and other tinned food, ducktape, a bottle of vodka... one broken swiss army knife and one incredibly dull kitchen knife. Oh well._

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

She hissed softly, when a black car with the darkened windows left her on a cold and wet street, thankfully near her home. She didn't like the attitude nor the choices given to her. All of that was rubbing her a pretty wrong way... she tried to pull the pyjamas shirt closer to stop shivering, but it wasn't really helping. When she got home and called in sick (she didn't even have to fake a hoarse voice), Selina made for herself a cup of hot cocoa and tugged in a blanket, she curled up on the couch again.

That was definitely a strange experience. A dark warehouse, or something very similar... Two other women. One of them a bit ruffled red-head. The second one almost all covered up in black, silent. And the man... or woman, maybe, hidden in the dark corner. He/she spoke in that weird kind of voice that one cannot tell if it's feminine or masculine... Selina shudder. Nobody she knew from Gotham would fit the clues. The only person she was sure she had already saw somewhere was the ginger. Was she a doctor? Or a scientist, perhaps? She saw her somewhere before, in a white lab coat, for sure. Now there she was in a very short green dress, with her hair unbound and messy. Selina wondered, if those other two women were pulled out of their homes too... And what their new insistent employer offered to them.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_Narrows drowned in panic. He couldn't care less about the people. At least everyone left him alone. The first night with the bat flying around, the people screaming and Crane reveling in all that beautiful mayhem from the back of his horse as the fifth rider of the Apocalypse... he mostly slept through all of that. And he dreamt a lot, oh yes. He couldn't remember those dreams... except the ones with the Bat. None of the vapors seemed to have other effects besides a horrid migraine. And after that, Narrows became a no man's land. The few people that stayed here usually avoided each other. So, it was pretty much like before._

_He was a bit dissappointed when the whites of his eyes healed to their original colour. What amused him were the brows, lashes and hair growing out slowly again - in a marvelous shade of green. Shit happens. Somethimes it makes the life more fun, he chuckled. Not that he could recall much from the years before... Who needs a name anyway._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Hate at First Sight (Lordi), Crazy (Gnarls Barkley), Poison (A. Cooper, Tarja Turunen version).
> 
> What a dreamy chapter... erm. More notes at the end.

**VIII.**

 

_"C'mon! Don't be shy, sweetheart," the green haired devil bared his teeth in a challenging grin, his eyes agleam. Rain poured down heavily, and even though Batman almost couldn't feel it thanks to the suit, the jester's long coat was soaked completely, as much as the rest of his clothes. Raindrops were breaking upon his hunched shoulders, creating around the clown's slender body a strange shimmering aura and sparkling down the blades of his knives, one in each gloved hand._

_The green locks were drenched, plastered to his face. The black paint from around the eyes run down his pale and scarred cheeks as some macabre tears. But the Joker's look was miles away from sad. Right now, it was turning quickly from thrilled and hungry to irritated._

_"Did ya forget how to swing a fist, Batsy-poo? Or do ya suffer from some... perfomance issues?" the Joker grinned widely, a maleficent glint in the acidic green. The Bat felt a growl raising up his chest, his hands clenched._

_"That's more like it, pet! I was almost afraid ya don't wanna play with me today," the clown smirked and quickly as an attacking snake he charged and swiped one of his blades across the Bat's chest. He dodged a hit and then the tip of the second knife breached through the suit between kevlar plates._

_Batman punched him hard into the ribs, then tore out the blade. The wound was probably non-threatening to any organs, but bleeding a lot. The Bat gritted his teeth, the jester gathered himself from the floor with an unnerving laughter. He poked tentatively his ribcage without even a flinch._

_"Ya should've said straight before that ya only want to cuddle today," the Joker sneered, but something... unsure? glinted for a second behind the green. He wasn't probably used to Batman not wanting to beat the crap out of him on sight, a somewhat amusing thought occurred to Bruce. The Bat cocked his head slightly and observed the clown silently, as the watched came a few steps closer, very slowly and warily as a wild beast, then raised his hand and took one of the gloves off. The vigilante squinted his eyes but did nothing. The jester's long pale fingers touched the spot where the blood was escaping the knight's body. "Did I break ya already?" he smirked, his eyes darkened._

_The Bat brushed the aggravating fingers away and answered with his fists. The Joker returned those punches joyfully. They fought, until the final blow that knocked the clown unconscious and he lay down in a bloody heap of a mess on the ground. Batman cuffed and then carefully lifted the green-haired man, when his head fell back and the eyes opened and stared at him, dead and glass-like._

 

"NO!" Bruce woke up with a jolt, fists clenched. No... He slowly collected himself from shaking and cold sweat, pulse and breath calmed down. He remembered that day. He knew well that the fight ended up as usual – he brought the Joker, knocked out but very much alive, to the asylum and left him there. Nothing more... And yet, the memory of the dream was vivid and real. And what was much worse – the idea itself of the Joker being dead and no more was throbbing and biting mercilessly somewhere deep inside. How boring would be his night patrol without the occasional madly laughing clown? Did that mean... that Bruce – or Batman for that matter – would... miss the clown prince of crime? Was the Joker right, about completing each other? How wrong that admission sounded and felt... So many lives gone, just for the clown's pleasure, for making a simple statement.

He sighed, brushed his fingers through the hair and looked at the nightstand clock. 5:00 AM. He laid down and tried to get some more sleep.

 

_"Did I break ya already?" the Joker smirked, his eyes darkened._

_The Bat somehow reluctant to use his fists again watched the clown cautiously, without a word. He was getting closer, his pale long-fingered hands sliding down the kevlar caged chest before they rested on his hips. The jester leaned closer and looked the Bat in the eyes, obviously waiting for a strike but apparently enjoying every second before the inevitable. His eyes gleamed seemingly with its own light, the green kept its vivid rich color regardless of the shadows of a rainstorm. He smelled after leather, smoke, blood and metal, the wet clothes only made it much more intense. It was too much... the green stare and his scent, the close proximity, the white fingers on the black armor._

_He lift a hand slowly and then grabbed the clown's hair firmly, decided to push him away. But when his armored fingers tangled with the soaked green locks, he hesitated. And after a moment of silence (that the Bat would never believe the Joker is capable of) he threw the objections of his mind away and pulled the clown closer. His free hand grasped the brigh colored lapels of the Joker's coat and Batman lowered his face. He caught an amused glimpse of the green irises before the clown closed his eyes and their lips met in a passionate, almost crushing kiss. It tasted like blood..._

 

"Ugh!" Bruce woke up for the second time, drenched in a cold sweat once again. With his lower lip bitten bloody and his sex painfully hard. Because of dreams about the mentally disturbed, mass murdering, painted and scarred green-haired menace. Just great... He should have get up the first time. And overdose with black coffee, just for sure.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_When the canned food was all gone (and after a short consideration of what roasted roach would taste like), he was forced out. He searched through several abandoned flats, took any food and weapons he could find. A bottle of water was a gift from the heavens – he thirstily drank that to the bottom, savouring the pure liquid, so different from that shit he drank the days before from the faucet. It tasted and smelled like a corpse consommé._

_After a while, he started to notice more than just sharp things and edible stuff. Books... clothes... details. One piss soaked alley lead him to an appartment hidden in the attic of the building. The roof was leaky... with only one tiny window. But the flat itself was stuffed. The dressing table full of make-up, both theatrical and casual. The closet was chock full of colorful garment, mostly dresses. But not all of the clothes were female clothing. His eyes lit up, when he found bright purple long coat and slacks in the same shade too. A dark green shirt... a black velvet waistcoat... and a wine coloured tie. And a yellow flower lapel pin. Colours... beautiful. In the Narrows real colours were a rare pleasure for the eyes, he couldn't tear his look away for a while, his sleek fingers touching the newly-found treasure as reverently as the little kid under the Christmas tree._

_He eagerly stripped of his grubby T-shirt and sweatpants and slipped into the new stuff. Better, so much better. He returned a wide grin to his mirror counterpart. The pants were a bit loose – nothing that a nice belt wouldn't fix, hopefully – and in the shoulders the shirt and the coat were a bit tighter, but it would probably give in soon. He returned to the dressing table, sniffed several bottles of perfume and grimaced. The smell was too much, overwhelming and sickening. He threw the last vial behind his shoulder and rummaged through all the other items. A deck of cards, an overscented vanilla candle, a glass of dried water with a withered carnation, a box with fake jewellry, a silver pocket watch, some fake eyelashes, several bottles of a nail laquer. Some tubes... he opened one of them, the charcoal black glistened on his fingers. He closed his eyes and smelled it. It was... nice. He was sure he never wore costume make-up before, but it smelled familiar and comfortingly. He didn't hesitate for a minute, and with the forefinger dipped in black almost caressed slowly over the upper and lower lids of his eyes. Another tube was filled with vermillion. He hummed softly, as the other index finger slide over the scabbed lips, leaving behind the bright red path on the soft flesh._

_It felt... better than good. It felt almost perfect. He put the tubes, the watch and the deck of cards into the inner pockets of his new coat, then he smiled at his reflection widely (one would say from ear to ear), eyes agleam._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! :) I have a pretty clear vision where this story will go and end (heck, I have plans for another at least three sequels), but since it's my first fan fiction and first published story ever, I would love any feedback.  
> What did you like? What did you hate? What should I avoid? It would help me a lot to improve my story-telling skills :) Thank you everyone for your time reading this story, and special thanks for all kudos :3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am evil, I know. What's going on inside the minds of the clown and the knight will be revealed the next chapter - this one was written purposely from the POV of the side characters.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Hotel California (The Eagles), Man of Steel extended remix (Fired Earth Music)

**IX.**

 

One month later.

The night was cold and unusually clear – one could almost see the stars through the smoggy air. Selina shivered, but didn't leave her watching spot... he had to show up sometime. For the last two weeks she searched through the city. For the last six days she changed her tactics and waited, hidden well at a place with a perfect view of the GCPD roof, and still, there was no sign of Batman. Where was he? Was he avoiding her intentionally? Or had he other reasons to lay low? She knitted her brows under the cat mask. She had to admit... she worried about him a bit. Something was happening – and she so hated to be in the dark. And of course, this tiring every night wandering around in the cold autumn-soon-to-be winter Gotham nights was as pleasant as her new boss's endless demands and remarks about her unfinished task. She knew her job was quite simple – why would she need some probably god-ugly masked bastard to remind her of this all the time? She smirked mirthlessly and then reached her head a bit, her eyes sparkled lively. On the roof beyond the GCPD building scurried a familiar shadow. Yes! She went after him as quickly and pursued him as deftly as she was able to. From rooftop to rooftop, she barely managed to keep him in her sight.

The chase was quick. Then she ended up on one of the roofs panting and desperately looking around, the particular oversized nocturnal rodent was nowhere to be seen.

"Son of a..."

"… yes?" the Bat stepped out from the shadows of the nearest building and Selina gasped.

"Why are you avoiding me?" the Cat collected herself quickly though and slowly walked over to Batman, her hips swaying. She lay her hand on his wide chest. "I was so worried about you," she purred, wide-eyed.

"I had something... else to deal with," the man responded reluctantly.

"Your... chin is so pale, babe," she hummed with a teasing spark in her eyes and caressed the small patch of his revealed skin softly before kissing the man. Batman didn't object or pull away – maybe there was still a hope.

"I missed you, you know?" she smiled a bit, when his arms embraced her body. She didn't expect an answer – the Bat never reveled in such a small sweet-talk.

"You know what? Come with me."

"Where?"

"To my place. We'll both have good time, I promise...," she purred in his ear and kissed him softly under the edge of his jaw. It will be much better than their previous... close meetings in the dark alleys and on a lonely rooftops. "Almost nothing is happening tonight... we could spend the night much more nicely. In a warm bed... I have a bottle of wine... or two... and I made cookies today,"she winked playfully. "What do you say?" She waited eagerly for a while, with his words she lighten up as a christmas tree with a shining smile.

"Lead the way."

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Jonathan was almost happy. Almost, as in 'as happy as anyone obviously completely sane can be when locked in the mental institution' happy. The doctors changed the formula of his medicine. He could think clearly, for the first time in a long time. Scarecrow kept mostly silent and confined himself only to some scarce personal notes, instead of trying to grab the 'steering wheel' constantly. Crane liked that. He accepted the Scarecrow's never leaving presence, but prefered strongly to being in control of his own body.

Harleen looked positively pleased by his new progress. At least something positive for her... since her favourite patient was not well. Sometimes she talked a bit about him in Jonathan's sessions. Of course, he would see himself that the Joker did not bring to mind his original self at all.

The jester woke up about... two weeks ago, if he remembers correctly. Keeping up with time and date wasn't an easy task in the asylum. He refused to look at anyone, always staring down a hole in the floor. He didn't said a word. And what is more important – no one heard him laugh. At all. The Joker. No smirking, no grinning and no mad cackle. Nobody knew what to think of it. It was almost funny, the orderlies were handling him as a rattlesnake, scared shitless even though the man was only a few days ago comatose and encased in a bodycast and bandages.

Crane had to admit that swiftness of the clown's healing was a bit startling. A month ago, the Joker arrived almost dead, now he walks on his own, slowly, but without any noticeable problem.

Jonathan stretched his muscles and got up from his cot. He heard something... someone was walking nearby. Did that sound like high heels? It was too late, too dark for a doctor. And all of the orderlies and guards were men. And the sound was coming... from the ground? What...?

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"Come in," she smiled at the Bat as soon as she slipped from the fire-exit stairs through a window to her appartment. He followed her and she shut the window and pulled down the shades. Then she cocked her head and pulled off her mask. "Make yourself like at home," she brushed her fingers through her shaggy and thick black hair that touched with the longest tips her shoulders and smiled at Batman.

"Wine? Or something hot, a cup of tea perhaps?"

"Tea... thanks. Selina... Selina Kyle?" the dark knight sounded surprised.

"You know my name... I'm impressed," she laughed and when he sit down on her couch (with his cowl still on and surrounded by several curious but too lazy to investigate cats), she aimed for the kitchen. She turned on the kettle and raised her voice to ask the Bat in the next room: "From where do you know me?"

"I would rather not tell," the reply sounded calmly. "Why do you have so many cats?"

She smiled and poured hot water over the tea. Then she carefully slipped out of her gloves and reached for her phone laying on the counter.

"Because even a stray cat sometimes needs a cuddle. And all of these needed a home. This place isn't a lottery win, but it's warm and as long as I'm here, they won't starve. Does the terryfing Batman own any pet?" she teased him, looking over the shoulder with a smile... sending a text message with a simple – 'NOW'.

"He does not. Is that a crime in this household?" the smile on the Bat's stern lips was barely noticeable, but it was there.

"Not very serious. Would you mind if I slip into something more comfortable?"

"Go ahead," the Bat replied. After a minute she walked into the room. She was dressed in a black tank top and shorts-like knickers of the same color, her long, well shaped legs and feet were bare. She held a teapot in one of her hands and the plate with cookies in the second, her pinky threaded through the handles of two cups. In her elbow rested a half-empty bottle of sherry. Carefully she laid all of that on the table and poured tea into both of the cups. Very skillfully, given her long, dark and shiny red painted nails.

"Sherry?"

"Maybe later."

She poured a bit of alcohol into her cup and sat beside the Bat with a smile.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

The Silver Banshee paced. Her wild shimmery-white hair with black strands ruffled more than usual, her fine form clothed in a black tight suit blended into the darkened room as she walked her way back and forth jabbing the high heels into the grimy leftovers of what was probably a long time ago once a carpet.

Finally! The phone vibrated and nothing could brighten her day (well, night) more than that very simple message. A whole sodding month locked in a smelly appartment with the grim (and close) asylum view, every night all night waiting for a signal in a company of filthy, uncouth scoundrel. A few days more and she would wail in pure desperation.

She quickly checked her weapons, both the old-fashioned scimitar and the Desert Eagle gun.

"Let's go! Now," she urged the four other men in the room and in a short while they were sneaking up the old underground of the asylum. The Banshee slipped first to the security room, with her blade she quietly disposed of two guards there. "Farrel, Reznik, cell number 145, you'll pick up the Scarecrow. Lewinski, Bakers – cell number 634, the Joker," she hissed and as the men left, she watched their movements via cameras. Her eyes gleamed silvery in the dusky room.

"Farrel, incoming guard on your right," she warned the first group and quickly turned off the night alarm of the high security department for the second group.

The Scarecrow was captured without any resistance, sedating him was a piece of cake. She observed Farrel and Reznik quickly carrying the man back all the way they came, then she switched to the feed from the Joker's cell camera. She narrowed her lips, as the grainy gray visual showed her the seemingly empty cell with only a straitjacket lying on the floor. Baker with a syringe boldly (or plainly stupid) walked in – just to end up with a needle stuck through his eye deeply in his skull. At least he finally got something in that head of his, she smirked a bit mischievously. Lewinski flung the green-haired man harshly against the wall, stuck another syringe in his neck and pushed the piston. When the clown slid down onto the ground, Lewinski grimaced and threw the limp gaunt body over his shoulder. With a small nod to the camera he departed as well.

She curved her lips in a hint of a smile. Smooth and nice. That was definitely a change compared to the standard. Perhaps she should take some 'holiday jobs' in Gotham from time to time. With a glint in her eye she stuck a flash drive into the central computer and watched as all of the screens flickered, faltered and darkened as the corruption ate its way through the system. She looked around, and before she followed what was left of her men, she broke the small glass case on the wall and pushed the big red emergency fire exit button. As all of the cells and doors opened and the screaming, laughing and raving mass flooded the Arkham surroundings, the rogue team dissappeared in the dark.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

She stretched her back, pleasantly tired, as a sleepy cat. She should feel guilty... but she didn't feel like it. Today was amazing... she brushed her fingers through the dark hair of her Bat. When the cowl dropped, not one of them cared enough to interrupt what they were doing... She would never believe that Bruce Wayne runs all over the Gotham's rooftops and catches criminals. Bruce Wayne, the spoiled playboy billionaire? The one and only. She was surprised even more that he actually got to remember her name, since her work position in one of his bussinesses was not major nor prominent.

She sighed contently and softly stroke the man's bare back, crisscrossed by long and deep scratch marks. He was deeply asleep... and if Pamela was right, he shouldn't be up for at least the next four hours. Maybe it will even help him – even now, in the dimly lit room, the strange paleness and the dark circles under the man's closed eyes were too obvious. He did look like he could use a nap.

She brought her hand near to her eyes and examined again the still flawless layer of beautifully red nail laquer. She should get it off, the tips of her own fingers were starting to tingle a little bit...

The night became alive with sudden sounds of sirens.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The clown and the knight wake up. The Joker aspires to became Emmental cheese. Poison Ivy kicks ass. 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: Heaven Knows (The Pretty Reckless).

**X.**

 

The world around slowly crept in. The smell of vomit, the cold and hard concrete under, the flickering weary light... The Joker grunted and moved his hands, lifted himself on his palms and then sitting he wiped the drool off his chin with his sleeve, looking around. He was in a cell again – different than the one before though. He didn't feel well – some jackass dosed him with a sedative before the tranquilizer they gave him in Arkham could have worn off completely.

"Finally up? You sure took your time," said a familiar refined voice. Behind the bars in the other cell the Scarecrow smirked a bit, sitting comfortably in a chair with a book and a cup of probably coffee on a nearby table. The clown's cell was completely empty.

"Not feeling chatty today, huh?" Jonathan smiled and removed his glassess, he put them with the book on the table and moved to the bars.

"Where are we?" the Joker hoarsed and slowly got up. Besides the three cells in this place, there was a small kitchen-like steel counter across the room and a medical table with a cart full of surgical instruments. The jester's eyes gleamed at that sight.

"Not in Arkham, surprisingly," Crane answered, his arms folded.

"So ya have no idea either," the green-haired man smirked. "What about why we're here?"

"Because of my toxin and your venom. There seems to be a man interested in... using those for his own purposes."

"Shiny. Did everyone forget how to ask nicely?" the Joker grimaced and slid the hand down his face, then brushed the greasy long green hair off his face. At least the company wasn't that bad. He could imagine a lot worse... He squinted, as the haze slowly retreated and everything cleared up, and glanced toward Crane. The ex-psychiatrist withdrew from the bars warily.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

The world around slowly crept in. The smell of sex, the warm and soft blankets under, the bright golden sun rays fighting their way through the blinds... Bruce grunted and opened his eyes, for a moment staring cluelessly at something returning his glare. "Kchsss!" the cat showed its displeasure with his movement and the yesterday's events started to come back. Oh god.

With a sour taste in his mouth and a dull ache behind his forehead he carefully got up and picked up pieces of his suit, attempting not to step on any cat tail.

On a fridge there was a short message stuck with a magnet:

 

_'Hey babe,_

_good morning, hope you slept well. I'm at work. Didn't want to wake you up, you looked tired – but there is something you need to know. Turn on the TV – or be very careful returning home. xxx, Selina'_

 

It took a while to even find a remote under the heap of cats. Sucking on a deep fresh scratch on his thumb, Bruce finally turned on the TV. Then, watching almost paralysed, he started switching the channels – it was everywhere.

 

_'… tonight's massive escape cannot be classified differently than a complete failure of the supposedly high security system...'_

_'… the fires in central part of the Narrows are still out of control, Gotham Fire Emergency Department has to deal with personal attacks of several of the Arkham inmates...'_

_'… more than three hundred patients are still out in the streets of Gotham...'_

_' …. tonight's asylum escape has over a hundred victims already, more than two hundred people are hospitalized..._

_'...damage costs are going up every hour...'_

_'… I repeat – do not leave your home unless is it necessary, keep your firearms close and do NOT, under any circumstances, try to provoke any person suspected of being an Arkham inmate...'_

_'… three young girls went missing. All of them are under the age of twelve, all of them fair-haired and blue-eyed as the pictures show. If recognized, call please immediately to...'_

_'… the rogue drive-by shooting at 27nd Avenue appears to be a settling scores between the mob and several men affiliated with some of the Arkham escaped residents such as the Joker and the Two-Face...'_

 

Blood, fire, madness unhinged and multiplied. His city was wounded, attacked at its very core, while he was with Selina and then sleeping soundly as a baby, ignorant of the danger. God almighty... He slid the palm down his face and then brushed with his both hands' fingers through his hair as he drew out a frustrated sigh. A white cat sitting on the kitchen counter glanced at him from licking her paw, and he would swear that her green eyes were gleefully amused.

For now... there is not much to do.

"Alfred?"

"Master Bruce? Are you quite well?" his butler's voice sounded concerned and relieved at the same time.

"Yeah... erm. I need you to pick me up. I will need civilian clothing, too."

"Of course, sir. I'm on my way."

Bruce ended the transmission and while waiting in his suit in a tiny flat on an old couch surrounded by cats, he was extremely grateful for avoiding this walk of shame.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

While the Scarecrow retreated back to his little comforts, the Joker started to explore his tiny accommodations. He touched every bar, going in rounds around the cell, keenly observing and musing about his possibilities. He actually enjoyed the moment – after several hours in this hole, even the remains of his Arkham medication started to dissappear from his body, leaving him with shaking fingers and a mind clearer than he remembered. That was a welcome trade. He bared his teeth in a wide grin. If he could get his hands on ANY of those... he looked at the array of shiny surgical toys with longing in his green eyes.

After several more hours, he grew restless. He needed to pace, but he lay on the cold ground instead and closed his eyes. He let his mind pace, frantically buzzing with a thousand and one thoughts and ideas and yet, he still kept up with all of them. And some of them were just splendid! Oh, how he was itching to put them to a good use, right here, right now... Laying on his back, he folded his arms on his chest, his ankles crossed. All good things for those who wait.

Someone was coming. Three men. Two went for the Scarecrow, and the ex-psychiatrist just closed peacefully his book and went with them away calmly. The last one stayed, and prodded the clown with a stick, only to be rewarded with a confused, almost hurt look from behind the sleepily lidded eyes.

"Hey! Watch the merchandise, hun," the jester smirked feebly, watching the suddenly disgusted lackey to leave again.

 

This time, not for long. All three of them came back and with a click of the cage door's lock the jester's mind jumped all excited. His body stayed still though, and all of them went into the cell.

"Move!" one of them poked him with the stick again. Even with the guns ready, they all missed the caution that the most of the Arkham employees adopted while handling the Joker – all the better, he guessed with a hidden smirk, when he slowly rose to his feet and glanced around, looking confused, but obediently stumbled out of the cell, lead towards the steel table.

"Dangerous my ass," one of the thugs chuckled under his breath. The second one smirked. Before he could pull out the shackles, the blade of a scalpel cut through his artery clean and quick and ended stuck deep in the third one's forehead. "SHIT!" the last remaining man blurted out with a gunshot, just seconds before the surgical scissors came through his lower jaw smoothly into his skull.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

With nightfall, Bruce got out of the mansion more than gladly. The morning drive back was... silently awkward, really. And he would swear that the butler winked at him when serving lunch. It wasn't unusual at all for Bruce Wayne to spend a night with a woman – for Batman, however, it was the first time. And the butler's worry was erased completely when he spotted the smudged remains of a lipstick on Bruce's skin. The revealing of his identity to another person could mean only one thing – and Alfred seemed to be happy with the thought that Bruce found himself a special someone. Someone who could apparently be trusted. If only all of that could be this simple... But he couldn't force himself to take the spring from the butler's steps and hope from his eyes by explaining something he himself didn't know what to do with. Being with Selina was... pleasant. It always was. But he couldn't imagine being with her... like... he wanted to be with... Rachel. Even thinking of that name was bitter and stung somewhere deep in his chest. She was the one in all of his dreams about... a normal life. And yet, all of those thoughts and hopes seemed more and more unreal with every passing month and year... much more unreal, than... living this double-life and stalking masked through the night, catching criminals red-handed. Until recently... when nothing of his dreams was left, nothing but Gotham's very own mad clown, dead or alive, laughing endlessly either way.

Batman gritted his teeth. This was no time for dragging out sentiments and dissecting the carcass of his feelings. Too much work to do, and so little time.

List of priorities was made in those hours of impatient waiting, and the Bat proceeded systematically. Most of the raving lunatics from the Narrows were locked up again, the fires were contained and brought down. Two-Face was secured, and Batman almost couldn't stand the look – everything about him reminded Bruce of his own failures, even years later.

The horizon brightened slowly with a steel grey light, when the Bat rested atop one of the highest buildings in the city and tired, he watched Gotham slowly awaken into another November morning. When the slender and elegant arms embraced him and Selina snuggled her cheek against his neck, he let her.

And when the drab light enfolded the city, they both went to her home again.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"He's escaping!"

The clown smirked. Whoever their boss is, his choice of minions is seriously poor. Pressing a new bullet wound in his hip and fighting single-handed, he still did a better job than this pack of armed monkeys. He could almost feel the freedom... sweet, sweet fragrance underpainted with exciting scent of blood and gunpowder. Swiftly he ran, the window and the gardens behind it closer and closer with each breath... something flashed almost behind his field of vision.

He yelped and then cackled excitedly, suddenly airborne. Green was swushing all around him, the spiky tendrils embraced him painfully before lowering him head down close to a strange bit leafy coloured but beautiful woman with rich cascades of rusty red curls.

"Hey there, little sproutling," he grinned, the amusement underlined with annoyance. The fist holding the scalpel was pressed tightly to his thigh. "That's a neat trick you've got there."

"Thank you," the red head smiled smoothly and came closer. No matter the jester's squirming, she pulled out a knife and cut through the dirty remains of his Arkham jumpsuit.

"Can we slow down? There should be at least one date before the clothes come off, I think," he grinned wolfishly, before she smiled at him and one of the plant's tendrils came to his mouth, silencing him efficiently. Nothing more than a humm escaped his lips, when she drove the blade's edge through his skin. She lead the relatively shallow cut from sternum, along the collar bone and ended on his shoulder. Then she cut his upper arm down to the shoulder again, finished the uneven 'V' and let the new wound bleed as she dissappeared from his sight for a moment.

She brought back a glass flask and hold its neck under the point of 'V'. For a second he watched with his eyes narrowed as the dark red liquid filled the container... when the plant shifted to make him shut up, the hold on his hand loosened a bit. The moment she turned away to switch the filled vessel for an empty one, he gripped the blade tighter and cut deep into the the vine, then jerked the instrument as much as the hold on his body allowed and in the same moment bit into the tendril in his mouth, no matter the thorns. He growled immediately, but the whole massive plant twitched erratically and dropped him harshly on the ground. In a wink of an eye he was on his legs running again.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I was inspired by 'Fairies Storm' (Proyecto Oniric). Should I create a youtube playlist with all the mentioned inspiring songs?
> 
> The Joker touched his limits some chapters ago, and I wanted him to have some nice time too, before I throw both of them boys into another shitstorm (incoming, starting with next chapter). Enjoy this micro mini piece of fluff while it lasts :P

**XI.**

 

He slowly exhaled, his back pressed to the damp, rough concrete. Sewers were not his first choice of a hideout, however it was a brilliant place to get rid of anyone tailing him. Nobody dared to enter the sewers but a mad man. Thankfully, he seemed to satisfy that condition. With a smirk on the verge of amusement and pain, quickly he followed one of the paths. Running through the Gotham sewers while bleeding was not wise after all. And his schedule was full of... courtesy visits. It would be a shame, really, if he missed any of them.

 

It was almost midnight when dr. Quinzel parked her car close to her unit. She grabbed her handbag and her case and suppressed a wide yawn. With the current emergency, she and several other doctors were at work from dusky morning to the night, retrieving patients, sorting files, trying to get everything in order – the B-man helped a bit. Well, maybe a bit more, but he wasn't there when it happened. All of Gotham got so used to depend on a single man that his sudden absence was more than startling. She didn't have to be a psychiatrist to say it's pure madness.

The thunder rumbled nearby, and rain started to fall mildly first, then becoming harsher and heavier. She sighed and put her case over her head to keep her hair from getting wet.

"Hello, doll," a voice growled out of the shadows near the entrance of her apartment, and she jerked in shock when she realized it's not another thunder strike.

"Mister Jay?" she opened her eyes wide, trying to behold the silhouette hidden from the flickering light of street lamps. The man spread his arms and the lightning showed his broad grin for a second.

"The one and only."

"What... what are you doing here? How... did you know where I live??" she gasped.

"Bah, details! Now now... I always, always wanted to know, how honest ya shrinks really are about that good will to help shit. Ya see... I may be in a position to take you up on your word," he slowly walked to her, smiling widely. Shivers slithered down her spine as she smiled faintly.

"It was honest. Please... come in," whispered looking around before letting the green-haired man inside. He was leaving tracks of water, mud and blood all over the creamy carpet, and the smell of his clothes was somewhere between a wet dog, a sewer rat and a slaughter house.

"What... do you need?" she asked him softly though, because something bright flickered in her mind. Mr. J needs help, and from all the people of Gotham, he came to her! "Except a shower," she added with a faint smile that almost fell off her lips when she met his cold glance. The moment of tension was broken by the jester's chuckle.

"You're right on that, sweetie," he nodded and she smiled again, relieved and glowing. "Something to wear, something to eat. I need to treat some scratches and lay low for a night. Can ya do it for me, doll?"

"I can. S-sure thing. But I don't have any clothes for you... Do you have anything hidden in the city?"

"I should've. Here's a place," without asking she pulled out one of her business cards and a pen and watched him scribble an address. "There should be no one there right now. If there is someone," he pulled a gun out from the remains of his jumpsuit and laid it on a table, "take this. Better use some gloves, if ya have any."

"Okay..." she eyed the gun, abashed, before she wrapped it in her scarf and dumped it on the bottom of her handbag. Then she froze, as the jester with a strange smile on his lips touched her cheek gently, in a manner she would never have believed him to be capable of, before leaving the room. "E-enjoy the shower... I'll try to be back soon, and with some food too," she promised to the Joker's back and for a moment she pondered what she got herself into. The slam of the bathroom doors woke her up and she rushed to do as she promised. She didn't want to test what happens when the clown prince of crime is disappointed – and not separated from her by a thick wall of glass nor held in handcuffs.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"And you just walked up to him with a knife and just took a sample?" she curled her lips into a small smile, for Crane's unbelieving tone.

"I did. And Thornie here helped a lot," she answered then, gently stroking one of the spiky tendrils. The plant caressed her back, without even touching Pamela's greenish skin with any of the thorns. The red-head frowned darkly. "He hurt her so much, just to save his worthless bleached ass."

Crane shook his head with an amused smile, concentrating on the right amount of the dark-coloured liquid in the glass container. Working alongside doctor Isley was a much more pleasant experience than he would have expected from being kidnapped. And her... unwillingness to be intimidated by Gotham's clown prince of crime was almost impressive. He wished he could have seen their brief encounter for himself. Except the Bat, there was no one who would stand against the Joker without fear.

"Nobody messes with my children. Not even a B-horror clown," she simpered, even though her eyes were anything but amused. Darkened with anger, they promised a lot.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

He let out a pleased sigh. Hot water... and an actual shower gel instead of hard block of slimy asylum soap without any foam or scent. He'll smell like a pretty flower for once, a smirk appeared on his thin, pale lips. He should be done with this quickly, in case that the blonde harlequin changes her pretty mind and decides to tell stories... But somehow, he felt that she won't. She was always kind to him, blushed every time he complimented her, she listened beyond her job, welcoming to whatever he had to say. She might actually be a keeper, if she proves to be loyal. Maybe.

He spent more than half an hour under the hot water – he washed his body and hair thoroughly, cleaned his new wounds closely. He thought about cutting the overgrown green strands, but didn't find any scissors or knives in the room. The hair still didn't bother him enough to search beyond the bathroom.... there was another problem, more pressing than curls tickling him on his shoulders. With the hot water and thorough cleaning both of his wounds started to bleed again and with one towel wrapped around his hips and another one pressed against the 'V' cut, he searched impatiently through the cabinets. No first aid kit? He glanced towards the door, when the keys rattled in the main entrance of the flat.

The doors opened and closed after a moment, light steps of only one person treaded around the bathroom doors and farther to the kitchen. "Mr. Jay? I'm back," Harleen's bright voice was unmistakable.

He relaxed a bit, and as he did, he realized how tense he was moments before. There was no reason for it, apparently. He was right, she probably won't rat him out to the police or... anyone else.

"I hear ya. Don't ya have a med kit or somethin'?" he opened the doors and peeked out towards the kitchen.

"I have. Come here, I'll see what I can do," she smiled. "I hope you have nothing against pizza," she added, nodding towards two flat boxes sitting on a table. On a chair next to it was a cardboard box, the familiar shade of purple fabric stuck out from it like a friendly wave. Good.

"No troubles there?" the jester drawled, settling himself on a chair next to the box. As the blonde brought a first aid kit, he dropped the bloodied cloth from his chest on the ground. "Nope, none at all," she shook her pretty head and sighed in sympathy, before she gently tapped with a paper towel around the cut and very carefully coated the surroundings with a sanative ointment.

"That won't need stitches, I think. It's... it's not that deep," she mumbled, her cheeks flushed pink. Was it because of the feeling of his skin under her fingers, or because of the fixed stare of her patient? A close smile danced on his lips, the green amused. When she finished bandaging his chest and shoulder, the pink got dangerously near to red when he pulled the second towel lower on his hips.

"This will definitely need a few stitches, though," she smiled kind of nervously and reached for a needle.

"Do your worst," he bared his teeth in a mischievous grin, softened around the edges a bit. The blood loss and the tiredness magnified by that glorious hot shower... He suppressed a yawn, watching her from behind the narrowed lids, all blushing as she quickly but carefully sewn together his freshly impaired skin. Her hands were gentle and touching him inconspicuously more than needed. All of that... the small flat, the smell of pizza and the gentle woman's care was... somehow familiar. Almost soothing. And more than a bit unsettling at the same time.

 

After all of his wounds were tended and all of the pizza gone, the Joker lay down onto the bed and sighed contentedly. The soft, warm sheets and the relative security... Dressed only in his boxers and the bandages, he pulled a blanket over his body and closed his eyes. Just moments later the door of the bedroom opened and closed and Harleen's light steps were coming closer. He felt her lie down just beside him.

"Erm... what do ya think you're doin'?" he rasped coldly, staring her down in the dusky room. She didn't seem to mind – but he felt her stiffen.

"Preparing to sleep. If you excuse me, now," she retorted in the same tone and showed him her back.

"I sleep alone," he stated adamantly. What the hell...?

"This is my apartment, my bed and my rules. I need rest and I won't ruin my back sleeping on the couch," her voice trembled a bit. Then she added (and he could almost hear a tiny smirk in her tone): "It wouldn't be even the first time we shared bed, after all."

"… what."

"I slept in the infirmary by your side that night you were delivered to Arkham, beaten and unconscious," she sighed after a moment of silence. "I shouldn't, but I wanted to be close in case you woke up and need something."

"Why...?" Why would she care? It puzzled him. She never told him till now, so she couldn't expect anything in return.

"Why didn't I tell anyone you're here now? Besides the fact that I don't think Arkham is helpful. Not for you, at least," she turned on her back and watched him, her blue eyes washed in the dark room to dark grey were... kind of sad.

"Pray tell, what did I do to deserve this?" he chuckled with a forced smirk, that died slowly with an extended silence.

"Because of you, J. I would do probably much more just to see you... safe, if not happy," she responded and then bit her lip, as if it was more than she wanted to reveal. "I think I'll take that couch after all," she exhaled silently and got up.

"Wait." The word reached out to her, when she touched the doorknob. She looked back surprised.

"What if I'm cold at night? Ya should think of your patient once more, doll," she heard more than saw the Joker's smirk. What she could catch a glimpse of was the ghostly pale hand raising the corner of the blanket in an unmistakable inviting gesture. She didn't hesitate and slipped under the blanket again – and curled herself tightly alongside the jester, her back to his stomach. Did she softly giggle? He pondered dumbfounded for a moment. Eh, he shrugged then and laid one of his arms around her warm body. Soon, both of them felt asleep.

 

When Harleen woke up, the Joker was already gone.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, the Joker does something else than to be a punching bag! :o  
> When I started to write this fic, I had only several scenes that I imagined clearly, like the scene that begins by the end of this chapter and will continue in the next one. The problem was how to get to them - and hey, it took me only more than 20k words to do that. Ehm.  
> Also, I do sincerely apologize to any possible Irish reader for being a dialect butcher.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by melody/lyrics of: God's gonna cut you down (Johnny Cash), The Angels Among Demons (Instrumental Core).  
> And here is the playlist, I update it with every chapter: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL7k-InZBHLSYdCgeE5pH6djUi8lEzSuBJ

**XII.**

 

"Jack! Hey, Jack!" the young man stopped and faced the voice, a wide smirk on his lips.

"Hey, Rattles. What's up?"

"I see yer still in one piece, 'live and kickin'," a robust man called 'Rattles' almost crushed his shoulder in a friendly pat. "Ain't nobody 'spected dat, after dose wackos run away from da looney bin."

"The clown would have to get up pretty early to get ahead of Jack Callaghan," Jack smiled warily and brushed his straw-blond curls. "And Gotham has more gangs than it's gutters have rats – I would like to see that playing puck in the arse to try and find the sodding needle in the pile of hay," both men chuckled.

"Da Boss wants to see ya, just got da message. Ya think he'll get ya a raise, for dat gem heist?"

"Perhaps. If am luck and in dough by the end of this day, we'll get ruined," Jack laughed light-heartedly.

"G'luck cha anyway, lad," Rattles patted his shoulder once again before leaving. Jack smirked and rubbed the aching joint, before walking straight to the boss' office. He didn't even manage to close the door, before something smacked him hard and good into oblivion.

 

"Wakey wakey, sleepy head! You'll miss all the fun!" the straw-haired young man groaned, as the slaps on his face grew from light and almost playful to prickly and sharp.

"Finally! Ya've almost got me there. Thought that Happy banged your pretty little head too hard," the blonde opened his eyes and blinked twice or thrice quickly, as if his mind couldn't decide if the jester's red painted grin right only few inches from his face was real or not. The former proved to be true, as the clown's smoky and sour (...and chamomile?) smell and the binding holding him still and silent came through his sensors as well. Well... fuck. He panicked and breathing short and fast, he squirmed to try to loosen the bonds. To absolutely no avail. He was trapped well in something that looked like an upright raised metal bed frame. Whoever tied him up certainly wasn't tight-fisted with duct tape.

"Awww, wanting to leave already? I guess I've been a terrible host," the green-haired maniac cooed mockingly and before Jack's eyes, he flicked a knife's blade open. Was that a... double fuck.

"Ah, ya seem to know this one already... All the better, I don't have to introduce ya two then. Ya know... I've been wanting to repay some favours for a long, long time," the clown raised his index finger and smirked, as he slid the finger down the lapels of Jack's leather jacket. Mhhmmm hmpf! But the clown seemed only to enjoy a disgust certainly displayed in Jack's blue eyes. "And I'm awfully sorry that I let ya wait, hun," he finished with a sickeningly sweet tone a second before he tore the piece of tape off of Jack's mouth.

"You sick fuck!" the blonde tried to spit on the maniac, but managed only to soil his own chin.

"Uh-uh, that's a teeny weeny bit like a pot calling the kettle black... don't ya think?" the Joker grinned broadly and stuck the tip of his knife in the corner of Jack's mouth. This silenced the blonde man.

"Any last words? I can very well testify that some activities are pretty hard after this, chit-chattin' included," the green gleamed hungrily, as the clown's eyes watched closely every even the tiniest movement of his face.

"Burn in hell."

"Well, that's not nice," the green-haired madman reprimanded him patiently, as if Jack was an unruly child. "And by the way..." the Joker cut deep and long into blonde's cheek nonchalantly, and waited for the man's screams to quiet down before finishing the sentence, "… there is no hell. There is only living."

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Another grey, rainy day. The storm retired, only here and there a soft and distant thunder rolled around. Everything felt mechanical. Do this, do that. Look natural. Kiss Selina goodbye. Get rid of the suit. Try another mask, this time as spoiled and carefree Gotham playboy. Only deeply sorry for a change – that was the only emotion he wasn't forcing upon himself. Because Bruce was honestly in mourning, he mourned every one of those lives the Bat could save and didn't. And the public memorial to all of these people (which he couldn't avoid as Bruce Wayne even if he wanted to) did a pretty good job reminding him of that. Be sad. But not too much. Pay a lot. Give a lot. Everyone expects you to. Everyone knows that Wayne always try to fix everything with money. Show yourself in the evening with some woman in society. Even if everything in you screams for solitude. Wait for the night, to be a bit more alive. Fighting criminals, catching the insane, just DO something without stopping till you're exhausted. Then hug Selina, embrace her curvy and soft body and for the love of god, force yourself once again to forget a completely different body, chalk-white and sleek, in your arms. Hold on to your sanity. Do not break. You are... not allowed to. Not yet. Not yet.

 

The city was falling into shambles. The people were scared that something like the mass escape would happen again. Bruce couldn't fault them. The people were blaming the dark knight for letting them drown in such a disaster. Bruce understood them. The people were protesting against the constantly failing security of Blackgate and Arkham, against the cops unable to handle problems without having extra help on the case. Shops were closing, lot of flats was abandoned, people were moving desperately into Metropolis or even farther away. Bruce was crumbling down together with the withering morale of Gotham's citizens. Only the Bat held him together... as effectively as the iron maiden doesn't allow its resident to fall down. He slept around ten hours total in the whole month. Painkillers, suppressants and caffeine were mostly his fuel, but everything has to come to an end... if he was to dissect his inklings and Alfred's more and more concerned looks, that end of this situation was drawing near, whatever it has to be.

 

The evening finally came. It started red and bitter.

After Jim's message here he stood, motionless, staring at the body strewn in tatters across the bat signal. It was torn and bloody, held together practically only by a duct tape. Batman carefully tipped over the corpse. What was left of the face sported a wide fresh Glasgow grin that made the man's ears almost fall off. The man's eyes were opened wide in horror. One was missing, the other one was baby blue and glossed over. The rest of the man's hair that wasn't missing or soaked red looked fair. The Bat narrowed his lips.

"Do you know anything about this man?" he asked the commissioner.

"His name was Jack Callaghan. Born in Ballybay, Ireland, his family immigrated when he was age of two. As a teenager he joined the Irish Wound Ravens gang – that's actually the only thing we could use to identify this man without using DNA tests or dental records," Gordon replied silently, pointing at the thick silver ring carved with ravens on the man's left hand. "The latter wouldn't be of much use anyway I think. He's... beaten up pretty bad, even without lacerations."

"How long?"

"He had to be here an hour at maximum."

The Bat knitted his eyebrows under the mask. "And nobody saw anything...?"

"… no," the commissioner admitted reluctantly. The shame fell on the heads of Police department. With current situation it could be... maybe understandable, to not immediately notice a murderer dragging a victim onto this roof, but far from flattering as far as vigilance goes. Being tired and overworked is hardly an excuse.

"And the-" the very core of this building shook, accompanied by deafening roar and fiery glare. Both of the men instinctively took cover. It was damn close. And for all the cries and screams, for all the sirens blaring, it was not over yet. Another two massive explosions painted the blackening sky golden and red.

"Where was it?" stammered Gordon, picking himself up heavily.

"The City Hall. The Mayor’s residence. Wayne tower," the dark knight gritted through the teeth already standing. Someone just leveled some of the most important points of Gotham. And he had an inkling who that someone would be. Suddenly feeling alive, fear and anger rushing through his body white and hot, he jumped from the edge of the roof of the GCPD building and spread the cape. As soon as he was out of the commissioner’s earshot, he connected with the butler. Please be safe, please be safe...

"Alfred?"

"Sir! Are you all right?"

"Yes! Where are you?"

"I was just leaving the Manor, master Wayne... what is happening?"

"I don't know for sure, yet. Please, get down to the Cave and stay there. Wayne Tower is gone."

For a moment he heard only subdued gasp. "As... as you wish, sir. May I be somehow of any help?"

"Keep watching what happens and keep me informed. I will let you know as soon as I find something new."

"Yes, sir."

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Harleen was just leaving the asylum, when the bombs went off downtown. The small and faraway smile she was carrying on her lips all day long disappeared quickly, when she observed the amber lit sky. And yet, the first thought crossing her mind was 'Is he okay?'.

 

Selina, covered all in her cat garb, skulking and jumping from a building to building, stopped and stared in direction where just moments ago the Wayne Tower proudly stood. "Bruce," she gasped and silently observed the catastrophe. She wanted to run forward, find her man and drag him to safety, but... what if another downtown building collapses? And even if she did find him... he wouldn't go with her. He would stay and try to play a hero, no matter he was far away from indestructibility. She preferred not to risk her skin in vain. As if conjuring up help out of thin air, the sky over her head brightened for a moment with a red and blue flash. If Superman is here, the situation is more than severe than she thought. He usually did not cross the Bat... unless it was seriously needed.

 

Pamela looked out from the window of their hide-out, then she checked the TV. Her fists clenched, as she realized that the beautiful park in front of the mayor's residence is probably gone as well. Sometimes, she hated people. Especially the ones who liked the brute force of explosions and fire.

 

****/|\^..^/|\** **

 

He landed as close as he could near the pitiable remains of his tower and put on a filtered mask, as the air was dense with ash and dust. And with the thick blizzard of smoldering pieces of paper... cards. He caught one of the many and didn't even have to look at it, to see the thin, yellow, black and red mocking figure of a joker. He stared for a moment at the simple piece of soot smudged paper, before he growled deeply and darkly and crushed the card in his gauntleted fist. He irritably disabled the police radio receiver in one of his mask's ear (even though any other day it would be unthinkable to just dismiss the Two-Face robbing Gotham General Bank) and looked around. The Joker wouldn't miss this sight for anything. He sits somewhere safe and watches the surveillance cameras... or, he hangs around somewhere on the rooftops, enjoying the view firsthand. He shot the grapple hook and lifted off, soon to be on rooftop with the best view. On the ridge stood a lean figure, and even if the colour of the hair and the long coat were for the ashes hardly recognizable, with the posture of the man's body and the way he watched the mayhem down there, there was no room for mistakes.

The Bat squinted his eyes, clenching his fists almost painfully, he walked slowly to the man on the edge. His arms were folded behind his back. His shaggy, green hair and the bottom of his purple coat were played with the wind, and that was the only movements of the jester.

The Bat pulled off his filter.

"Are you happy, now?" he spat out in a coarse voice, the words burned worse than the air full of dust particles in his throat.

The clown slowly turned his face to him and paid him a deadpan stare over the shoulder, his eyes seemingly black, before little by little the infamous grin of his spread widely on the vermillion painted scarred lips.

His voice was equally husky. "Are **you** , Bats?"

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo, rest of the scene! I really did enjoy writing this, so I can only hope you'll enjoy it as well :) This chapter was inspired by Two Steps from Hell and their songs 'Star Sky' (extended version) and 'Run Like Hell'. 
> 
> Also, I managed to finish that picture mentioned in comments - here they are, all the ladies of this story: http://naervon.deviantart.com/art/Gotham-Ladies-629101224?q=gallery%3ANaervon%2F17091612&qo=0

 

**XIII.**

 

_"Are you happy, now?" he spat out in a coarse voice, the words burned worse than the air full of dust particles in his throat._

_The clown slowly turned his face to him and paid him a deadpan stare over the shoulder, his eyes seemingly black, before little by little the infamous grin of his spread widely on the vermillion painted scarred lips._

_His voice was equally husky. "Are_ _**you** _ _, Bats?"_

 

The answer was an ireful growl and the crude grip of the gloved fingers in his green strands. Before the Bat could throw him away from the edge and onto the rooftop's surface, something cold and hard was quickly pressed to the Bat's throat, right beneath the edge of his chin. The flames reflected in the Joker's darkened stare, and the wide grin stayed rigid on the scarlet lips. The clown wasn't amused nor thrilled, nor content. The clown was livid. His thickly kohl-rimmed eyes burned with seething animosity, and yet - his body acted unnaturally calm. His finger lightly but firmly pressed on the gun's trigger, the barrel of which roughly rubbed Batman's Adam's apple, as he cautiously swallowed.

"Batsy, batsy..." the Joker purred quietly, yet unusually without even the tiniest hint of affection. It felt like a saw, softly dragged over the skin, promising that the pain is nearby, but not quite there yet.

"Ya've kinda let me down, y'know? I thought ya can keep yer word..." the stiff grin still plastered on the jester's lips, as the purple-gloved thin finger mapped its way from Batman's cheek to his chin.

"I've..." the cold metal dug roughly a bit more into his throat, his voice skipped slightly. Bruce fell silent, but then dared to try again. "I've made some mistakes. I should never done what I did to you," he forced out, anger and hate mixing with regret and shame in a bitter tasting clog somewhere deep in his throat.

"Baaats... If ya wanted something, anything, ya could've just asked," the Joker smirked mirthlessly, his head tilted a little. Bruce took in a sharp breath. He remembered **that**... what else stuck in the jester's memory?

"I.... I am sorry," Batman growled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as in the remorse.

"Ya're not," the Joker sneered a second before the hand in his hair moved quickly and smashed the gun out of clown's hand. The gunshot cracked as a whip and the bullet grazed the cheek of the Bat's mask as the gun flew out of the jester's hand over the edge of the building and fell down. Then the second gunshot hit hard and mercilessly.

The Bat toppled on the gravel covering the roof, winded and shocked. Quicker than a cobra, the Joker shot him with another gun and now watched him somewhat disappointed, the green cold, hard and regretless.

"Tsk-tsk. Playing dirty is my expertise, Batsy-baby," he snickered and then treaded slowly and fluidly as the beast of prey over to the vigilante laid on his back and grasping painfully for the air. The green-haired menace sat astride on his stomach and used his teeth to get rid of one of the gloves before the long and pale index finger poked inconsiderately the spot under his ribcage where the bullet got stuck. Even from that almost non-existing firing distance the kevlar caught it.

"My oh my, look – at – this! Uuuh, I should get me something like this from Santa. Pretty pretty," the clown hummed sweetly, thin fingers exploring the bullet embedded into the suit excitedly. Then Bruce felt something cold and sharp touch one of his eye lids and the Joker's mood shifted again.

"I wish ya were sorry. What should I do now, if ya're getting fucked up already. That wasn't much of a challenge after all," the jester then continued pondering out loud, almost sulking, didn't seem to mind the one-way conversation. The ashes and the subtle drizzle messing up the face-paint added to the 'sad panda' effect greatly.

"I should get a new hobby. Any advice?" he patted his palm hardly against Bruce's chest, before moving it behind his own ear. "Hmmh? I can't hear ya, dear, my ears still ringing. I blame the fireworks."

Second later, almost lost in the red and black swirls, Batman managed to catch a breath and inhaled all relieved. He did not want to lose consciousness in the Joker's presence. Not at all, not ever.

"What is it, buttercup? Did I break ya already?"

The Bat growled. Bruce only swallowed. Those hissed words reminded him of some of the dreams he had. And not only his mind, but his body remembered that as well.

"You've broke half of the city. Was it worth... whatever you wanted? All those dead people, was it worth it?" Batman snarled trying to ignore the blade tip a hair away from his left eye, staring darkly at the jester comfortable lay upon his wide chest.

"Ya tell me," the Joker grinned pensively, his eyes still strangely dark. "Are ya still worth it? Or did I waste all those good people of Gotham for the attention of a lying bastard that's trying to keep up with his outdated goody-two-shoes facade? Tell me, sweetheart... what have you became?"

He watched the clown gesticulating and pointing with a blade loosely in his fingers, no longer threatening him closely. The jester's weight pressed the slowly developing massive bruise on his chest – but the cold filling his insides had nothing to do with the physical injury. He gritted his teeth and pushed the clown from him as strongly as he could, backhanded away the knife slashing in his direction and hit the Joker hard in the stomach. The green-haired man yelped in a high-pitched salvo of laughter. "I guess ya don't wanna know that answer," he mocked, the green eyes agleam, and flung something after the Bat. A playing card made of steel bored its sharp way deep into his shoulder pad, and as Batman fended off two more throws, the Joker was on the run.

 

A fire escape staircase, jump, run over the thin ledge, under the shocked stares of its inhabitants run through some flat to another fire escape, from border to border, from ledge to ledge, over the edges, down and through the city. He felt the day old gun wound open again with the Bat's hit, but nothing was more important now than to outrun the night and the pissed off nocturnal rodent. The remains of his own rage and hatred were taken away by the wind and the smoke. The city was burning, and all of the Bat's attention laid on him and him alone, no one and nothing else. How **could** he hold a grudge like this? This was more intoxicating than alcohol or drugs, or freedom after breaking out of the asylum. The thrill of the hunt... He heard those familiar sounds behind him, the swooshing of the cape and the creaking of the grappling hook against the stone and metal, and nothing could keep his joyous laughter locked and silent.

 

The front side of the jester's coat was darkening with blood. Was he injured before they met? That flew quickly through Batman's mind, before he threw all the thoughts over the shoulder. Nothing mattered more than catching the maniac, than preventing the madman from adding to his massive body-count at least for tonight. It felt like a sugar rush, surging through his body, making him feel more alive than he remembered, quick steps somewhere ahead, sometimes a glimpse of a grin, sweeping pieces of green or purple, a glint of a blade, whole-hearted chuckles. The chase was always dangerous, with the subtle and persistent raining even more.

The next time he saw a flash of the purple velvet clad back in the auburn and weeping night, it was on the other edge of the same rooftop he just landed on. The jester preparing to bounce onto the neighbouring rooftop slipped on the wet border and quickly disappeared from the Bat's sight. It was a long way to the pavement from there and something deep down Bruce's heavily bruised chest froze. He jumped forward and heeled over the edge, trying to pierce with his eyes through the darkness of the narrow street below him, when something reached for him and pulled him down, harshly against the fire exit stairs right under. Before he could get back on his feet, something got sprayed in his face. With coughing he blindly swung his arm and strongly hit the body next to him, throwing it violently against the railing.

"What... what is this," he rasped out, and the jester giggled faintly, hissing afterwards. The rain grew stronger and the Bat gasped for breath once more. "Scarecrow sends his regards," the wide smile of the clown appeared above Batman's face.

"The fear toxin won't work on me anymore... Antidote," the Bat grouched. But... everything got foggy, even the sharp angles of the smirking face upon him got blurred and he couldn't blame the rain completely. The sweat stuck his suit uncomfortably to his skin. The heat coursed through his body, leaving his limbs at mercy of pins and needles, all of his muscles shivering uncontrollably.

"Dunno, Bats. He tweaked the formula a bit. It looks like it’s working to me," the Joker stuck his face even closer. The endless rows of yellowed sharp, sharp teeth and the slashes of blood red halved the ghostly pale face, something sickly green swirled deep inside the darkest tar of the eye sockets. All of that was melting... melting... the tears of black defiling the ivory skin, the beads of black falling upon Bruce's face, seeping into his soul, corrupting and twisting everything till nothing else was left, nothing except the macabre clown's faithful reflection.

"Nggrh..." everything felt slowed down and grueling, especially lifting his arm and clutching the jester's white throat. The smile fully composed of acicular canines grew even wider, it filled all the burning world with mockery and desire. With his squeeze stronger and stronger, the raspy and wheezy laughter grew weaker and weaker. The ropes of rusty spit glistened, stretching down slowly from the tips of teeth as the breath struggled and rattled under his firm grip. The thin and long bony fingers dug their chalky claws deep into his wrist, the mirrors of the stained skull cracking, the green glass breaking and glittering in the tiniest needle-like shards, lights flickering and threatening to drown him forever behind the indifferent looking glass. His own eyes were welling up with the water, mixing the fresh, salty and black together. No... not again. Someone close roared as loudly as the lungs could only allow, was it him, or him?

With all of his might he tossed the other man as far as he could manage and then half jumped, half fell over the rail into the darkness below, thrashing and clashing with the railings and walls of the street too narrow to glide in. Hurting and broken he landed ungracefully, splashing on the muddy pavement, the rain suffocated him... the crisp shadows and fiery highlights reeled around him, devouring and swallowing him easily whole without any fight left.

 

The Joker closed his eyes, his chest aching from the laughter, but it would be easier to die than to try and stifle down the burst of euphoria. He listened to the Bat falling. He listened to the startling silence following it, silence disturbed only by not so distant noises of alarmed city and the gentle whisper of the rain. Little by little he got up, pained by mere bumped bones and stretched muscles, the yesterdays wounds bleeding and the neck swollen - a child's play against the still not forgiven Bat's tender care a few weeks ago - and made his way unsteadily down.

The rain was creating puddles in the damaged wings of the dark knight. For a while, the jester stared down on the ragdoll that Batman was right now, before slumped on his knee and with his cold fingers felt the faint and fast pulse, running like a quickstep right under the burning hot skin. All of it felt unreal, as if in a hypnotic, dream state... he slowly got rid of the remaining purple glove and with both arms he turned the Bat on the back.

He wrapped his thin fingers around the fallen knight's wrist and stronger than he would seem to be, he started to drag the body through the mud, puddles and rubbish into the depths of narrow passages.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my... somehow I got completely lost with all the stuff needed to be done and with no time left for writing. I'm sorry, all of my readers! It should be better now, this chapter is finished and I've got another one half done, so... at least something. 
> 
> This chapter was inspired by The Hearse Song by Harley Poe, which is also in the beginning of this chapter mentioned as heard by Bruce (and sung by the Joker).
> 
> Also, here you can find a scene from previous chapter: http://naervon.deviantart.com/art/Scarecrow-sends-his-regards-634130047

**XIV.**

 

His eyelids felt like they're made of stone, so he left them closed for now. From a confused fog sewn of nightmarish dreams and even scarier memories, new sensations slowly emerged – the strange stench of stale blood and rotten meat, a weird pattering sound, someone singing in the distance. The smelly and scratchy yet pleasantly warm fabric wrapped around him. Scratchy? How would he know, with... Something clenched inside of his chest. He was practically naked, all he was wearing was his underwear and... his mask? Yes, whoever took his suit left his cowl on. Nothing made any sense.

Bruce finally opened his eyes. He was in a strange room, lit only by an old-fashioned lantern placed on a wooden desk in the farthest corner, and he was lying on a sizable mattress which has probably seen a better days. A long time ago.

He tried to get up before he heard a deep, threatening growl. Where only moments ago there was an open door seemingly leading to freedom now stood a dog looking far from friendly. It was tall and huge, the legs were long and the flanks were sunken, its dirty half-length steel coloured fur was pasted and messy. One of its ears was almost gone, hanging on a strip. Its jaws and snout were scarred heavily. Bruce froze. A beast that big would be dangerous even if he was in his armor - and without it his chances of escape unscathed were more or less negligible. But then the dog just stepped aside... to let the Joker in. I should have taken the dog, went through Bruce's mind before he raised his eyebrows. The clown patted that dog-thing and it not even left his hand intact, but faintly wagged its tail before disappearing in the darkness.

"Finally up, are we? Ya took yer time," with long steps the green-haired menace approached, taking a chair in his stride and settling on it astride, laying his forearms on the backrest, entwining his gloveless, pale fingers. Bruce tried to get up and get away, just to find out his body was disobeying his wishes, weak and almost jelly-like. Pain sharply flashed through his body, mainly in his stomach and left arm. Excellent. The jester was watching him with a wide, amused grin.

"Careful. Ya don't wanna hurt yerself, do ya? Wait... maybe it's too late for that. Ah, well."

The dark half naked knight stared him down.

"What happened?" he rasped out.

"I prepared a brilliant fire show, and ya seemed to hate it. Eh, everyone's a critic nowadays," the clown shrugged. "A little bit of fighting, a little bit of chit-chat, a little bit of running, a little bit of tripping out and then falling down like a brick and the fun was over for ya. The red'n'blue Spandexman spoiled everything by fixing stuff up, enjoyed Gotham's finest licking his boots gratefully and then he finally fucked off again," the jester scowled in annoyance.

"Where am I?"

"Oh, I almost forgot! Welcome to my humble abode, buttercup!" the Joker spread his arms theatrically and smiled widely. "It's a bit smelly and maggoty here and there, but what can ya do? A slaughterhouse won't smell like roses."

A slaughterhouse... probably an abandoned one. Bruce looked around. These rooms were probably some offices. It's amazing, how many conveniently abandoned buildings can be found in Gotham. He gritted his teeth and looked up to the clown once again.

"How long was I here?"

"Several days. Ya can be a perfect fellow, when ya can't think straight," smirked the Joker undeniably with tease.

Several memories surfaced from the chaotic mud of his mind, from the feverish haze of the previous days. The Joker, his face serious and focused, fixing his dislocated shoulder and broken wrist. Icing the purplish black and green bruise on his chest and stomach. Helping him drink. Helping him eat. Helping him... with his other needs. Oh god. Waking from the nightmares, woven of burning embers and tiny leathery black wings, with a warm body right next to him. And in its calming presence soundly falling asleep again... Bruce palmed his face and wished for a hole to fit in and the pile of dirt to put on top.

"Y'know, it was like taking care of a goldfish. Sometimes maddeningly boring and annoying so I wanted to get rid of ya, but ya wouldn't fit the toilet, so I kept ya."

"Thank you," Bruce growled acidly.

"Yer ear started to talk to itself sometimes," the jester leaned closer and poked one of the cowl's points with his finger. The shame disappeared faster than snapping fingers. Alfred!

"But don't ya worry. I found out how to respond, we had a nice talk. Funny, the guy seemed to really care about ya. Should **I** start to worry?" the smile didn't falter in its width, but the green turned cold, the tone went from playful to grating in a moment.

"He's a friend," Bruce countered coldly. "Why did you leave the cowl, anyway?"

"Oh, why would I take it away, Batsy-darling?"

"Why not? You always seem to eager to see what's under it."

The Joker rested his chin against the knuckles of his hand, the green pensive, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Well. If I didn't know who ya were, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise for myself. If I did know, then there would be no point in peeking. Don't ya think?"

Bruce growled something incomprehensible in response and struggled to get up. To his amazement, the Joker without any witty remarks helped him to get up. His thin form supported him firmly, without swaying or breaking, and the jester escorted him safely to the restroom.

 

Bruce locked the door and leaned on a basin. After a thorough analysis of what he just heard and what happened, he pulled the mask off and splashed his face with cold water. His legs were shaking under his weight... was that aftermath of the new version of Scarecrow's toxin? In a weak, flickering shine of dead moth infested lights he relieved himself and took a cold shower, then as he saw no suitable towel still all wet slipped into the underpants and the cowl again. He slowly breathed in and tried for a connection. Nothing. Could that be a faulty signal? Or did the clown somehow find out how to disrupt his only way to contact the surrounding world? Probably the latter. The mere thought what could have happened around him when he was unconscious was truly unnerving. He could be poisoned or a future of a slow torture till death could await him for all he knew – especially after what happened when the Joker was under his care. Maybe the clown was just waiting for him to be coherent enough.

Bruce was quite certain that whatever the Joker plans to do with him, it won't be any good. With that thought and a deep breath, he left the restroom just to find the clown in the hallway leaning his shoulders against the wall, one hand's fingers were lazily going through the scruffy fur of another dog.

"I never took you for a caretaker."

"Then ya got it right. They can take care of themselves pretty good, unlike yerself," the jester smirked and the beast growled.

"So, why are they here?" Bruce asked ignoring the last note and suppressed a yawn. Those few moments out of the... bed, for lack of a better word, seemed to drain his energy quickly, his legs were still quivering under his weight and were he not been propped against the doorframe, he would probably have slumped to the floor already.

"No city pound snatchers snoopin around, and there's usually a lot left to eat for them whenever I decide to stay," he teased mockingly, the wide smile sinister, as he detached from the wall and helped Bruce again. As soon as the half-masked Bat collapsed on the familiar mattress, the jester moved a paper bag (with a printed logo that Bruce faintly recognized as some sandwich fastfood) from the desk into his lap.

"Here ya go. There shouldn't be any maggots in it, unless some crawled in meanwhile ya're taking the soak." He earned a dismayed look from the barely-covered vigilante that he didn't seem to mind. He moved the lantern closer to the mattress (while moving, Bruce noticed that this room had normal lights once too, now pierced through and through with holes probably by gunshots) and sat himself on the desk, calmly sharpening a small, well-worn knife.

The fatigue started to weigh heavily upon Bruce, threatening to pull him into a drowsy slumber even before he could finish his meal. The chicken and cheese sandwiches weren't the freshest, but edible (and without any added protein, thankfully) and he ate as quickly as he could muster. He felt asleep soon after.

 

He woke up alone later, to sounds behind the wall. The grating voice of the clown, the shaken voices he didn't recognize... all of them too subdued for him to hear word from word, but the tone hinted a lot. The Joker wasn't happy. What is he planning? Bruce wrinkled his eyebrows and tried to catch as much as possible.

"… but she saw me only for a sec, boss. She's looking for you. She's close." The clown snarled something in response, heavy steps paced back and forth.

"… Allrighty boys, listen up. Ya two and ya – ya know where to. Shoo, right now is late! And ya – if I'm not back by dawn, ya'll take the guy in Bat mask out. Ya'll give him this and ya'll listen what he'll say. Screw this up, and I'll finish what she started," the voice chuckled darkly and the other one yelped. Bruce wondered if that guy got an injury just poked by a disgruntled villain. As soon as he heard men leaving, he closed his eyes again and even against his intent, he fell asleep once more.

 

He startled himself awake. Something cluttered somewhere in the dark surrounding him, rattling through the cabinets. Bruce carefully drew backwards, until he couldn't move further for the wall behind him. The darkness faltered, as someone lit the lantern clumsily. The clown was back and the knight silently watched as he withdrew from his ruined coat, waistcoat and shirt just to splash vodka all over the cuts and tears marking the upper half of jester's body. He looked like he jumped through thorny bushes or something.

He sat behind the desk, obviously the alcohol cleansing was all he planned to do as a treatment, and spread some papers all over the table, murmuring something while searching. Bruce wasn't moving at all – there was something wrong with the clown's motions. And the eyes – those eyes looked black again. With eyes wild like this, disheveled and with the lean and pale chest slashed and bloodied he truly looked like a man possessed, flipping through the pages of yellowed paper impatiently. On his throat one could still make out fading bruises that Bruce dimly remembered were his job. It almost could be called a common occurrence, leaving their marks on the other’s one... as every breath reminded him tirelessly. Bruce almost smirked.

The Joker's thin fingers raked through the leaf-coloured strands of his tangled hair. For a moment he stared at the papers without a wink, then grabbed the almost empty bottle and threw it against the wall.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When correcting, my partner after reading the goldfish toilet part said this: "It's simple – we flush the Batman!" :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some creepy clown cuddles, and we are slowly moving towards the finale!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should never promise quick updates... -.-

**XV.**

 

Bruce unwillingly flinched. The black gaze followed him to his corner, and the vermillion lips bent in a half smirk.

"Lil' jumpy, aren't we?"

Bruce wouldn't admit that, but the huskiness of the clown's voice sent shivers down his spine, and some more... unwanted effects to other parts of his body. The clown got up and with the lantern he made his way to the mattress, where he put the light on the ground and squatted in front of Bruce, his elbows on his knees, his hands with fingers hanging freely to the ground.

"Are ya afraid, lil' bats? Without yer wings and yer toys, without yer strength and without an upper hand...?" he teased with a playful smile, with a sinister edge to his tone. Bruce didn't answer, staring back.

"I can almost see ya think, all those cogwheels spinning merry go round as ya count aaaall the possibilities... it shouldn't take ya long. It's a very short list, y'know?" the jester moved onto the mattress, closer to Bruce.

"Still not afraid? Ya should be, Bats... sometimes, I would run away from myself as well," he laughed softly as if sharing a secret. Something snapped quietly – the dying light of the lantern almost run out of oil glimmered over the razor blade. But more than a cold gleam of sharpened steel too close to his weak body, Bruce was interested in another detail. The Joker's eyes were truly black. His pupils were dilated so much there was no green left other than just thin hoops.

"What happened to you?" he dared to ask, trying to capture the Joker's eyes with his own before he could lay the long blade's edge anywhere on his skin.

"You," emphasized the clown, pronouncing carefully, poking Bat's bruised chest with his finger. "Ya happened. Ya promised. Then ya screwed me over with everything ya've done, stuck me back in the loony bin all broken and didn't give a bat about it," the Joker slurred, corners of his scarred mouth turned down.

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment. "That's not true. I never wanted to do anything like this to anyone. Every day I regret that."

"So why did ya?"

"I..." Bruce was staring deep into the jester's eyes, as if it were possible to find an honest response in the glossy black. Perhaps, it was – but the offered answer repulsed him before and scared him now. "I don't know."

"Baaats..." the jester chided softly, the annoyingly knowing smile slowly turning his mouth up, his head cocked and one of the eye-brows lifted. "Ya're a terrible liar."

"I don't have as many years of practice as someone."

"Oooh, cheeky. Careful, darling...," the blade softly ghosted over the skin of Bruce's throat. "I might slip."

"You still didn't say why you look like this," gritted the Bat through his teeth.

"Like what? _Fabulous_?" the Joker brushed his hair ostentatiously and posed for a moment.

"Like hell on high and right after a fist fight with a porcupine. Since I slept here all the time, I fail to see how this can be my fault as well," the dark knight deadpanned drily. The clown shrugged, and approached him even closer.

"It's not. Not... directly. Ya've done nothing. Literally," he smirked. "I wondered what was it ya're so busy with that ya couldn't stop the good ol' Arkham throwing up all of its insides onto Gotham's streets."

"So... you are angry that you could escape?" the Bat lifted one of his eyebrows incredulously.

"I didn't want to escape at the time. I was a freshly woken vegetable – broccoli, perhaps," the jester grinned widely. "I wasn't... asked, exactly," he watched Bruce almost amused.

"Wait... someone took you? Who? Why? What have they done?"

"Oh Bats, ya DO care!" the leaner man almost bounced excitedly. "Maybe ya'll even shed a tear or two, when I'm gone!"

"Joker! Stop this and tell me now what is it with you. You don't act norm- ...like you usually do."

With a smile so wide and a stare so dark it reminded Bruce of his nightmares, the clown almost... snuggled to his bruised stomach, watching him from behind the half-lidded eyes defiantly. Just try and push me away, if ya dare... And Bruce didn't. Perhaps because of the guilt, or because all of his muscles still felt like made of jelly, but he didn't even make an effort.

An extending moment of an expectant silence did finally bear its fruit – the Joker probably missed the sound of his own voice.

"Ya wanna long and colorful fun version, or the short and factual boring one?"

"Short."

"Bat-bore," the clown rolled his eyes and made himself more comfortable while smearing more of his own blood over Bruce's skin. It should be disgusting... somehow, his body held a different opinion. He felt a warmth in his cheeks and bit his lower lip for a sec, for there was no way the clown sprawled half over his body wouldn't notice. But if he had, he unusually kept his remarks to himself, grinning widely as a content Cheshire cat.

"Well. Let's see... Few days after I woke up, some guys broke into the bin and kinda relocated Crane with the lil' ol' me as well into... someplace else. 'Crow works for them. They wanted his toxin and my venom. They've got my blood. I've tried to find out what are they planning. But. Got fucked over with a cactus. Not literally. Two chicks work for them as well, some... Silver Banshee and Poison Ivy. The second bitch caught us sneaking around and I got away with a free acupuncture... and I miiight have got some poisoning curable probably only by something that only that leafy redhead can cook up," the clown finished his confused story. After a moment, he breathed out sharply. "Pfft! Now ya've done it! Only ya could want a horribly dark evil master plan to sound boring!"

Oh. Bruce gave him a thorough look, as the information sunk in. "Are you serious?"

"Me? Always. Except when I'm not."

"No, seriously-" "Seriously, ya can stop using that word. And yeah. There is a third party doing something kinky with my blood, without even the courtesy of telling me what it is. And I'm not sure how much time I've got left, but I can do batshit about that until the dawn comes," the clown shrugged, his eyes cold, his lips holding a wide crooked smile.

"I s'pose we both got some scratches, nothing to whine about."

"What? You've shot me, poisoned me and set my tow- n on fire."

The green-haired menace grinned as widely as he could, with a devilish spark in his dark eyes. "Ya really wanna play that blame game?"

"… No."

 

Bruce lived through a lot of strange things. One of them, without any discussion, was surely watching the clown prince of crime falling asleep beside him, using him as a pillow. The thinner man was worn out and poisoned... and Bruce was abashed.

How did all of this happen? How did he come to be almost naked, awkwardly stiff lying on the dirty old mattress, everything he believed in scattered in ruins, with a half naked mad criminal snuggled closely and bleeding all over him, both of them nestled together in a slaughterhouse? If someone had told him something like this would happen only few weeks ago, he would have shipped that someone immediately to the asylum.

Golden dimness of the room painted on the green locks a halo the man would never deserve, and yet – it was oddly fitting. That man was like pure fire. Reveled in chaos, taking and destroying whatever fate swayed his way, but strangely fair in his ruinous path. He didn't discriminate – he would kill anyone who would be in the wrong time at the wrong place. He could be a playful, funny man-child as much as a cold-blooded stranger. It wasn't the first time that Bruce thought of the Joker being much closer to a natural disaster than a simple criminal.

And now that natural distaster was hugging him closely and drooling on his shoulder. It's going to be a long night, sighed the stained knight and closed his eyes, trying to get some sleep as well.

 

The morning came, a grey, cold and crisp reminder of a soon-to-be winter. The cool air bit into Bruce's bare shoulders and arms, encirled around the burning hot and sticky shoulders of the clown heating with his own the rest of Bat's body. Bruce stiffened... with one hand's fingers gently entwined through the wavy green strands of his captor and with his arms around the feverish sleeping body, this scenario looked far away from being kidnapped against his will and kept (almost) naked for whatever reason. And what was worse, it felt good. If one overlooked a shivering clown mess leaving red and black marks all over his chest, waking up with the other one close was a pleasant experience, kind of new to Bruce. Selina never stayed in the bed till he woke, and before her there wasn't any other woman (or man) that he would allow himself or even want to spent a whole night with.

Pity he couldn't enjoy this moment of false harmony for a little longer – somewhere close the silent grey morning was shaken by loud gunshots and yelling of men. He looked down right into the clown's face and met his stare, black and veiled, but awake and turning swiftly from slightly irked to livid.

The Joker quickly got up and not minding the dry blood and slashes in the clothing, he put on his signature purple coat. From a small inside pocket he fished out a tiny silver key and threw it next to the dark knight on the mattress, and then he was gone, without a word, even before Bruce could snatch that tiny thing and look around thoroughly. When another gun joined the chorus dowstairs and the Joker's laugh shivered through the old building, Bruce finally saw that one of the cabinets had a key hole. And inside of it were all his things. He almost moaned in pure frustration – his equipment was here all that time, at arm's reach so close to him?

 

The Joker would never believe that they have balls big enough to try to ambush him under his own roof. But once again he stood corrected, since here they were, trying to cut their way through his clown minions. Annoyed, he growled before swinging into a wide grin and a mirthless laughter. Perhaps they should pick a different morning to fuck up... for sure.

The knife flew through the air and narrowly missed the redhead's cheek. She shrieked as the second one didn't miss and a short blade pierced her shoulder.

"That's not possible!" she hissed. "You should be dead."

"Maybe we both are. Or I can help ya to be," the jester grimaced wildly and threw her against the wall. Before he could swing his blade against her throat, she kneed him into the stomach and elbowed into his temple, using his slowed reactions to her advantage. Then while trying to escape from his reach, he grabbed her rusty locks and pulled her abruptly to the ground. She yelped and rolled just a second away from being slashed open. With an angry pained cry she pulled the short blade out of her shoulder and without aiming she threw the damn thing at the clown. Missed... and without even a chance to get up she was pushed against the ground, with one of the jester's knees forcing her down and with a tip of a blade touching roughly a soft spot under her ear.

"Ya can choose. We both live, or we both die," the Joker's coarse whisper made her grit her teeth. She came to collect the body... what went wrong?

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More blood and sassy quips incoming!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any sloth would be impressed with my update frequency... sigh.

**XVI.**

 

_"Ya can choose. We both live, or we both die," the Joker's coarse whisper made her grit her teeth. She came to collect the body... what went wrong?_

 

As her pose allowed her, she glanced around. Her thugs were failing against the clowns, obviously enjoying a good fight, and the slaughterhouse hall floor was covered in fresh blood. She bared her teeth and tried to wiggle her body out of the clown boss' grip, but all in vain. The tip of the knife pierced her skin and she snarled: "Get off me, you freak!" The tip started slowly forcing its way deeper and she cried out in pain, suddenly panicking... then something black and heavy swooshed over her and the blade and the weight were gone.

Sound of a rough fighting forced her to concentrate and as a streamlet of blood trickled down her neck, she pushed one of her palms against the stab wound and looked behind, still lying on the ground and breathing heavily, shocked.

The clown let out a sharp chuckle, getting up from the ground and closely watching the Bat doing the same.

"Once again the chivalrous knight, aren't ya?" the Joker bared his teeth and flicked open a knife in each of his hands, waiting for Batman's next move with his dark eyes bright lit and a smile as wide as the Joker's can be. It grew even wider when the dark knight reached for something at his utility belt and found nothing where the smoke bombs had been before. And when Batman grabbed the bewildered redhead and decided to leave hastily through the broken window, he was followed by nothing more than hysterical laugh.

"So much for that, gentlemen. Time to take the party elsewhere!"

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"… Ivy?"

"Secured by Batman, Sir."

"And my men?"

"… dead. Sir," Silver Banshee swallowed a bit nervously, watching the back of a shrouded man staring into the flames in the fireplace. Heavy silence fell, disturbed only by the laboured breathing of her boss. When he spoke again, his words grated, distorted by a strange device it sounded nothing like a human voice at all.

"Find him. Get him here, dead or alive. He is still of use to me. Do NOT fail me, Siobhan." If she shivered, hearing her real name, she didn't let it show. With a simple nod she walked out of the room, and the freezing hallway felt somehow much warmer than the room with her employer.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

It was still dark, but the horizon already started to show signs of the rising sun. The city was quiet and in this early hour between night and day unusually peaceful. Harleen Quinzel couldn't sleep... she decided to spend the time with an early start at work instead of fruitless tossing around the bed, eyes open wide, tired but unable to sleep. Perhaps she should write herself a recipe for some sleeping pills. Or she should try to take her paperwork home and use it as a pillow... she smirked sardonically when she startled awake from microsleep for the third time. She closed one of the folders, pushed it away, and got up from her chair, moving to the window of her office. She sipped her black coffee and shivered over the bitter taste on her tongue, looking down the Arkham's courtyard. The familiar black caped crusader appearing there in a faded dark gray light woke her senses better than the vile beverage – he dropped an unconscious redhead on the ground and waited until the orderlies could pick her up, then quickly disappeared into the retreating night.

Harleen squinted. So, he's back. If only... her pager beeped and with a sigh she left her office. It was never a good idea to make the director wait.

 

When she returned, something was different. The door was opened, and she was sure she shut it when leaving. Then she spotted it - on the pile of patients' folders lay a single red rose, plucked probably from the asylum's conservatory. She lifted the flower gently in disbelief and smelled the sweet scent. Somehow besides the flower's fragrance she could smell smoke, metal and leather as well... the doors creaked. She turned sharply.

Leaning against the wall, nearby the door, was the Joker. One of his pale hands with long fingers stretched wide was laid onto the wood, closing the door slowly inch by inch. When they silently snapped shut, she flinched a bit and he smiled wolfishly.

"Hello, doll. Miss me?"

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

Arkham... Probably a home for a weirdo like the Joker, if he's coming back voluntarily, the Banshee scoffed in disdain and checked her ammo. It would be pleasant to have the full cover of the night... but not every day could be a feast.

She climbed skillfully over the high fence and snuck between the frost touched bushes. The security room was infected with the clown disease... two guards laying in a puddle of their blood. Once again stealing the clown prince of crime... The joke was wearing thin though. If she had to visit the asylum this time for the last, she wouldn't mind at all... She snuck into the room and screeched, before the variety of weapons drawn could be put to use. All of the jester's masked lackeys dropped their guns and knives, pressing their palms against their ears, monitors' glass cracking, sparks flying... she stopped before destroying the technology and with her blade she disposed the incapacitated clown parade. They reminded her why she hated those colourful masked freaks ever since she was a little baby.

Banshee wiped off several streaks of blood staining one of the screens and flipped through the several camera feeds till she saw what she was looking for.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

She gasped softly. One of his hands clutched her wrists behind her back. The other held a blade, pressed now against her throat.

"Ready, sweetheart?" the Joker purred to her ear from behind. A tiny, careful nod was her only answer, as fear was now clearly displayed on her face.

"Good girl," Harleen heard the grin in his voice before he pushed her from the office to the hallway and they both began the journey to the criminally insane ward. She felt his heat behind her, a subtle quivering of the blade under her chin, heavy breathing and the lively rhythm of his heart... J. was sick, and needed that antidote. And yet he made up this charade, so she can keep her job... How sweet of him, how thoughtful. She collected herself, as she almost slipped a happy smile. Keeping the mask of fear and resentment was easy, she was always good actress. And never hesitated to do what was necessary for her goals.

If only the way from the office to the criminally insane ward was any longer... she could revel in the Joker's close proximity a bit longer. But not even her persuading skills could bend the laws of physics and after a few minutes here they were.

The redhead sat on the bench in the corner, her arms around her body and the stare she threw in the jester's direction was pure hatred.

"You're wasting your time... the little that you have," she smirked with a beautiful smile in her beaten face, with toxic sweetness dripping from every syllable.

"Pray tell, why is that? Decided to die, rather than help a poor sick fella to get well?" the jester grinned gleefully and while still holding a blade under the blonde's chin he pulled out a gun with his other hand, and slowly cocked the hammer.

"Oh, I'm sorry... For sick creeps like you, there's no cure."

"And here I thought that all the burns are my area of expertise. Even the poor sick ones," the clown pointed gun in her direction with a mirthless chuckle. "You have ten seconds, sweetheart," he added coldly as his smile disappeared. He could feel her starting to panic. "Ten. Ya know, it's always like that. It's all fun and games, until someone shows up with a gun," did the blonde psychiatrist under the Joker's blade giggle softly? "Seven. Or a knife. Five. Six. Four..."

"Stop! I cannot make another batch, and the one vial I had I don't have anymore!"

"Did ya break it? That would be unfortunate," the Joker deadpanned, cocking an eyebrow. "Two."

"BATMAN! Batman took it from me! Don't...-"

A gunshot cracked. From the barrel of the gun rolled a piece of paper with 'BANG!' scribbled on it.

The redhead stared in shock for a second, before lunging her bruised body to the bars.

"YOU FUCKING FREAK! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"

"Be my guest, dear," the Joker dropped the fake gun in front of the bars and smirked. Then he shifted swiftly. A dart got stuck in Harleen's shoulder. A wide opened stare of her baby blue eyes... before she closed them and slid down, the clown barely managed to move the blade and to not slit her throat accidentally from ear to ear. Another dart swished from the darkness, its flight sharply disrupted by a steel card. Then a bullet came. The grey and piss soaked wall of the asylum's corridor got sprayed with red.

 

Stealth mission be damned, Banshee ran through the grim corridors of the asylum, disposing quickly of any other unfortunate souls crossing her path this morning.

She was running our of time. If he gets the antidote, she loses her advance... She sneaked closer, listening to an exchange her ex-colleague and current target had. Batman... he's around again? He could pose a threat. In the night, of course. She never heard of him 'working' when the dawn came and light, as frail and unconvincing as it is in Gotham, shone over the city. And she was pretty sure that the steel grey daybreak outside turned into daylight. The most important thing said was something else anyway. Ivy doesn't have the cure and therefore neither does the Joker. Good. She prepared herself.

Son of a bitch evaded both of the darts... If he wanted to do this the hard way, she had no objections.

 

Ivy clutched the bars painfully, watching the clown prince of crime get smacked by karma. That was quick... and beautiful. She smiled widely, when the familiar black and silver form appeared from the shadows and went to check the jester's pulse, with clown bleeding all over the floor and motionless.

"'Dead or alive'... I like these assignments," the redhead heard the Banshee murmur, before she addressed her. "Erm... Could you give me a hand here?"

The Banshee got up from her knee besides the Joker and glanced at Ivy pensively. "Why? The boss said nothing about rescuing you," she added with a smirk and turned to the stained wall. With a deep breath she screeched against it, and the barrier started to crumble.

The Banshee's screech, a hysterical howl of many nearby inmates inside and yowl of Gotham's police department car's sirens outside made Ivy hide in the corner with her palms pressed heavily against her ears and with a bitter hints of tears burning under her squeezed eye-lids.

She didn't want to see that other woman leaving through the crude hole in several walls between the hallway and the freedom. Nor the rag doll clown the screecher had to drag away. Nor the delicate and beautiful blonde doctor lying lifeless on the floor near her cell. Nor the damned gun with the bright red-lettered 'BANG!' flag branded in her mind as vividly as her own plea for life before the eyes and ears of that creature.

Nor the Bat, after a few moments, silently crouching and observing the scene, making sure that the doctor is all well. The Bat, with his gloved fingers slightly shaking when he examined closely the fresh blood with several wisps of green hair in it before he fled into today's grey and drizzling day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's out, our biggest villain is Darth Vader! DUM DUM DUUUUM! Also, sorry for a cliffhanger.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood. More blood. Feverish flashbackish italics dreams. Much pain. So angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-betad, I'm sorry.

**XVII.**

 

Broken windows and a cracked facade of the building whispered about long years of its loneliness. The miserable face of the abandoned Children's hospital would not suggest any being living inside, perhaps apart bugs and birds, but after several hours of following them Batman was sure it was right here that Banshee and the Joker ended their journey, the first one annoyed and the latter unconscious, motionless.

Hidden almost in the plain sight, Bruce weighted his options. He could gather more information and then leave, get some food and sleep, clean clothes in the ideal case, and return when the nightfall comes. If the kidnapped criminal would be anyone else than the Joker, he would probably follow that plan. But the Joker it was, and no matter how crazy it sounded, something on the edge of his mind urged him strongly to intervene as soon as possible. The clown was shot. Badly, since his usually green hair was almost completely drenched in red and he didn't seem to regain his conscience, not even for a while. He could be even dead... as lucky as the clown prince of crime was, he would need tons of fortune to survive a headshot. When the cruel probability of the situation hit the dark knight again, he shuddered. He didn't want to think about Gotham without his mad underbelly ruler. Bruce's memory kept ceaselessly bringing up fragments of the night mere hours ago, the lantern's golden light and the jester's heart beating against his own chest in soothing rhytm.

If he knew how, he would start praying that the rhytm goes on... and perhaps, one day, he gets a chance to listen to it once more.

 

After a moment, another vehicle arrived. With several other men, Jonathan Crane got out of the car and as soon as they disappeared in the decrepit building, Bruce now shielded from the front windows' sight slipped out of the overgrown rose bushes and behind the Crane's car he got to the one the Banshee arrived with.

Luckily for him, nobody bothered to lock the car door. The sight wasn't for the faint-hearted – the vehicle's interior reminded Batman pretty much the slaughterhouse once more, with backseats all spongy with blood. Dark, already drying blood. And... some fresh blood as well. Flicker of hope fluttered somewhere in his chest, as he retreated back to bushes. Perhaps it's not... too late yet.

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

_A gentle smile, shining even through her soft blue eyes. She was dancing... dancing with him. Her hair was golden, but lines and shapes of her face were blurrier every second he tried to recognize her. For a moment... and then it was gone, in his arms there was a queen of hearts with his Harlequinn's face and pale blond strands. She stopped their spins and caressed one of his scarred cheeks fondly, her voice kind and silken._

_"For sick freaks like you, there is no cure, puddin'. It's allright though," she smiled widely, somehow copying his glasgow grin perfectly, as he created the second one around her neck. She closed her eyes peacefully and slid down. Pale changed to golden, then those angelic curls grew heavy with red._

_"Are you happy now?" a familiar growl tingled down his spine, as he turned his face to dark, masked intruder. "Can't ya see?" he dragged tips of his fingers in the crimson and still silently growing lake under his knees, and with one smooth stroke he traced from cheek to cheek his scars and lips._

_"How could be a smile so big any way unhappy?" his laughter was sharp and rough, deep down in his throat raw and stabbing._

_"You are nothing else than a rabid dog. You should be put down as one of yours mangy mutts," those familiar lips under the pointy-eared mask curled in disgust, and he stared into a barrel of the gun the dark knight held firmly._

_"Do it then. Make my day," the jester hissed, getting up slowly, raising and spreading his arms, basking in the Bat's cold and indifferent stare. The gunshot cracked... flashed white hot through his head. He was falling back... falling down, didn't stop at the ground, grasping through the air, desperate to stop the long fall. The glass breaking, the acid hissing... smothered him again in its agonizing embrace, now and forever._

 

He startled awake with a feral grunt, drenched in icy water, not knowing where is up or down. Someone held him crudely, and he threw up while coughing, stomach acids burning in his chest, throat, mouth and nose, his head felt like kicked by a horse, a sticky crust of drying blood covering his left temple and cheek. His eyes felt like dipped in sand, he couldn't see... things went to the shitter quicker than usual, as it seemed. He was almost glad, when the merciful blackness swallowed him again.

 

_He was drowning in sweat, feverishly dizzy and light-headed, every touch burned... if it was too hot or too cold, he didn't know. Didn't care... familiar rough bumps of the gauntlet touching his skin, scraping his skin, he would sigh with pleasure any other time. But now his senses were too overwhelmed with pain, sharp and caustic, seeping to the flesh and bones, into the very bone marrow of his body. And maybe even deeper._

_Too overwhelmed with feeling of dread, the familiar weight pressing onto him. Leavemebeleavemebeleavm... he growled into the reeking moldy matress, bucking and fighting, opening new wounds on his wrists._

"Not... this.. not, not again..."

_He choke drily and gurgled something under his breath, as the powerful arm pulled the collar and lifted his face anchored firmly in his locks. Unfamiliar pain slashed through his temple, he whined in surprise._

_Sound of fabric ripping, his own sweat – or blood, what does it matter – blinded him. Scalding streams of this, not tears, not ever, ran down his cheeks. He could taste it, salt and bitter, perhaps even a little bit sweet._

_The hand, in its glorious kevlary-crudeness, pushed his lower back and loins down, steadfast and unflinching as a steel girder. And another wave of pain washed over his feverish body. It was harder and harder to breath, and he dropped all the defences to just... simply exist a little longer, living a dream, a beautiful dream, twisted into this nightmare, as anything and everything for Harlequinn of Hate. As he loosened his grip on being and slipped away, pain became distant, same as tremors. He was leaving... in the presence and by the hand of the Bat, as he dreamed, as he wanted..._

_With a soft warmth inside, coiling in his broken chest and having nothing to do with fever or pain, unknowingly he softly smiled. Happy, as a broken clown can be._

 

"He won't survive much longer this way."

"Who cares?" one of the guards snapped. "Doing anything else is better than watching this piece of shit rot away."

Jonathan Crane took off his glasses and in clear distaste he put them into his breast pocket.

"May be. But I do believe he is a bit more useful to the experiment alive. Let me in, and call a professional medic, for heaven's sakes," Crane curled his lips in displeasure and entered through the glass door the Joker's cell.

There on a bare cot the clown prince of crime lay, in the same position he was tossed in. His clothes and hair were soaked with water, and his injury – or injuries? Seemed like the jester could never settle with just one. Probably too boring... his head injury left him ooze still a bit of blood and some clear discharge, an unequivocal sign that if left unattended for a little while longer, the guard could be perfectly right about rotting.

Crane heeled over and carefully pushed the green hair out of the way, touching freshly blood soaked strands as little as he could manage. The thin man lying unconsciously before him was burning up with fever. The bullet merely grazed the jester, sending him to the dreamland more with shock and impact than severity of the wound itself... It wasn't pretty a look though. Missing skin, hair, pieces of bone and a part of his ear, and the burns... all the nasty aspects of physical medicine Crane happily avoided with the psychical specialization.

Jonathan knitted his brows and removed a syringe from one of his pockets. Even with a moment of hesitation, he took a sample of jester's blood, then he rose up and wiped tips of his finger to a handkerchief before leaving the cell.

 

_Curled tighly and hugging his knees, he stared down the battered bars of the cell doors. He rocked slightly, in a steadily pace, as the inner monologue couldn't be stopped._

_White... and grey... and yellow... and red... and brown. White... and grey... and yellow... and red... and brown. White... and grey... and yellow... and red... and brown. All those colors... smelled exactly how a man would expect to. Stench of disinfection, stone walls, stale piss. Aged blood. Old shit. And the peculiar smell of human desperation. The unique fragrance of Arkham._

_Could ya feel it? It stakes through yer nose and temples, makes ya tear up, makes ya sick. Walls are closing in, crushing ya and every hope of freedom ya've ever felt and wanted for. Despair eats away yer life, piece by piece. Like... like Pacman. Oh yes. A little, black, eyeless Pacman, munching merrily on every minute of yer wasted being. No ghost can catch ya. No ghost can free ya from the labyrinth. No spirit remembers ya. No soul on Earth thinks of ya, and if, it's with a wish. A heartfelt wish that ya draw yer last breath in here, soon. As quickly as possible. Yesterday was late already._

_No starry sky for ya. No night city to conquer and rule. No simple things to enjoy. No Bat to live for. Rot... every second rots in vain. Will ya leave me here? With decaying time as my only friend? With all-embracing armful of pain as my only companion? And with stale stench of old bodily fluids as my only certainty...?_

_Even if ya came... I wouldn't believe ya here._

_I wouldn't hope._

_I wouldn't dare._

_Bats._

_Please._

 

** **/|\^..^/|\** **

 

"Boss! He's here!"

"Let him come... you know what to do."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly... I don't know, what to say. I am still firm on finishing this story, and I thought about it often, I just couldn't make myself to write. A large part of my writer's block was simply a doubt. I read through the beginning of this story many times, trying to see it through the eyes of a stranger.  
> And results... were not good. Actually I pretty much hate the first chapters of jumping here and there, writing painfully rigid, obviously trying to write through the boring parts as quickly as possible... Perhaps the stiff start killed a lot of people willing to give this story a chance, I'm not sure. I was thinking about rewriting first 10 chapters. And one day, perhaps I will. But now I don't know how to make it better, and I don't want to try anymore, every time I tried, it ended up with tears and self-loathing. 
> 
> Only thing I can do right now is finish the story as well as I can manage. There is only one or two chapters left. And I will try to achieve that without another several months of silence. Thank you, everyone, who took time to read my story, and I cannot even thank enough to you people that decided this story is worth your kudos or your comment. I love you for it.


End file.
